The Kettle's Boiled
by EmilyDoreen
Summary: John's newly-found daughter seeks refuge within 221B Bakerstreet, bringing along with her a crime that'll topple the pair. Then when Molly Hooper gets kidnapped, it appears that this crime may have actually been for them the entire time, but who would have the motives for such audacious crimes against Sherlock Holmes? Sherlock/OC, Post-Reichenbach
1. She's Such a Watson

**Hello, lovelies! So, this is my first Sherlock fanfiction on here, and I'd love to hear your thoughts :)**

**For this story, consider it after Reichenbach, but after Sherlock's return and life for him and John has returned to 'normal'. Also, this is rather important... Make John around 40 years old, and Sherlock thirty-five. You'll understand why when we get more in to the story.. Enjoy! **

* * *

**The Table's Turned**

**Chapter One- She's Such a Watson **

* * *

"Taxi!" Called Sherlock against the rain and the traffic, hailing out on the road.

With a small curse under his breath, John ambled out of the flat, shutting the front door which Sherlock had left wide open in his urgency.

A black vehicle pulled up against the pavement, stalling a little as it braked. The two men pushed inside and clambered to their seats, shaking rain from their clothes.

"New Scotland Yard." Sharply instructed Sherlock, leaning back in to his seat.

John simply arched an eyebrow as the taxi pulled from its place and in to the London main streets. The tension sat there like sitting ducks, and the said ducks pecked away at John until finally he uttered a plea, "Sherlock, please. Just tell me, who is Evangeline Monaghan?"

"A change, John." The rain pelted against the window, reflecting a dim grey from the tarmac beneath them. "She's a change in our lives." He turned to his friend, "Are you ready for that?"

John frowned, confused- Riddles. All this was just riddles. The doctor took another approach, "…Are _you _ready for that?"

"Of course." Declared Sherlock, his mouth a simple tight line, "I'm always ready."

John knew he was lying. But then again, he also knew he was going to get nowhere else in this conversation. "Right. Okay, then I'm ready too."

Sherlock gave a curt nod before turning away, facing straight ahead. John would never be ready, not for the shock he was about to get. Sherlock remembered just over a year ago when this had all started, just by chance. He remembered how much it had shocked and nearly pushed him to the point of fear. Sherlock repelled change. He couldn't deal with it. He thought about how for the first time he'd gone to Mrs Hudson, desperate for advice, and she had assisted.

They'd kept the truth from John for all that time, and he hated himself for it. But Sherlock knew now this would end. The truth would come out- and everything would change. Perhaps, just in small ways at first… But no. This was it. This was the day that everything would have to alter. And for once- He couldn't prepare John, he couldn't assist him. He would have to stand back, and let John make the choices for himself.

* * *

**About Fifteen Minutes Earlier: **

"We've had a message from Lestrade." Commented John idly, scanning Sherlock's mobile with a certain ease sat opposite his laptop.

"If it's about the teacher and the hammer- I've sorted it. Done." Dismissed the consulting detective knowingly, figuring if Lestrade was prying about a case it wouldn't surprise him.

"This is odd," Watson began, clearly not having listened to the latter, "This message… Lestrade is asking for me to go down to New Scotland Yard. Not you- He wants_ me_ at the station. Me specifically, why would he…" He sat back, continuing to read "Something to do with an… Evangeline Monaghan? Doesn't say much more- Classified, I bet. Mean anything to you?"

Sherlock had a sharp intake of breath, but it dissolved in to further silence. For a moment the great Sherlock Holmes had become unhinged, just for that fraction of a second. Unfortunately, it had escaped the doctor's attention as he was too absorbed in the latter's mobile.

John turned, shoulders sagging as he saw the consulting detective, still 'consulting' his microscope and nothing more.

_'Of course' _a sarcastic voice droned John's head, "Sherlock? Are you even listening to me?"

Watson paced over and placed the mobile next to Sherlock with the text opened, however the detective just locked the phone without properly looking at it or giving it a second thought. Watson's eyes grew narrower; Surely Sherlock would have an opinion about this?

Sherlock paused and leaned back in to his chair, for a moment his eyes scanned over Watson- noting the man's every detail, thought and idea- Sherlock shrugged, "Don't worry about the email."

"You know what it's about then?" Grudgingly asked John. Of course he'd know. Why was he even asking?

Sherlock sighed. More pointless questions. Surely John could just figure out the task ahead of them? Ignoring the nature of it, of course. It was very rare that Sherlock _didn't_ know what was going on for a start. Sherlock felt his mood dampening.

John continued, "Lestrade is personally asking for me at the station- Now he says it isn't an emergency but the quicker I get down there the better…"

Sherlock didn't respond; In fact, he appeared totally absent, he slipped the mobile in to his trouser pocket; feeling it better when John didn't have direct contact. He could deduce why Lestrade was keeping_ her_ there easily- Well, he could deduce seven reasons why Lestrade was keeping her there.

John furrowed his prominent brow at Sherlock's expression. He knew the look, it meant either Sherlock was either in deep thought, or Sherlock knew the answer so well to John's question it actually startled him- _affected _him, if that was a concept the consulting detective actually felt.

"Okay let me refrain my earlier question; do you know _who _it's about? About this woman- Do you know who she is?"

Finally, Sherlock looked over to John who was leaning on the desk with one fist; but still no emotion filtered through Sherlock's pale eyes. "I shall accompany you to the station," Muttered the detective, getting to his feet.

John opened his mouth to speak to ask yet another inquisition, one that Sherlock wouldn't answer. He bit back the question, feeling it had no use.

Sherlock pulled up the collar of his trench coat and met his friend's eyes reaching for his scarf, "Trust me, you'd rather me be there than not." He headed for the door.

John frowned, reaching for his own coat and shoes quickly.

When he looked up Sherlock had already left, brisk and firm on his heels as usual. Bastard. With a grunt of frustration the ex-soldier followed after him; lugging his coat over his shoulders as he ambled down the stairs. Sherlock had headed in to Mrs Hudson's dwellings and was stood tall just within her doorway, face placid and formal.

"…the settee, Mrs Hudson. I'm almost certain she'll be here later, to stay."

"Now- Sherlock?" Scolded Mrs Hudson, bafflement etching in to her eyes. "I don't have enough food in for another of us, oh! If only you'd have given me an earlier warning-"

"What's going on, Sherlock?" It was John. He was stood looking in to Mrs Hudson's kitchen as confounded as she was. The two exchanged a look as Sherlock shrugged.

"We better be going." Stated Sherlock, starting in aim to leave again. Quickly, however he turned, and bowed his head, "Mrs Hudson", before turning again. However it was the look on Sherlock's face as he had turned; it was a_ don't-say-anything_ sort of face. John had had enough, he moved just quickly enough to catch Sherlock. Something was wrong. So dreadfully wrong.

John caught Sherlock by the lapel on his coat. The latter turned to his friend and raised his chin a little; shadowing any chance John would have of trying to understand his friend's thoughts. There was something in Sherlock's urgency- This wasn't a crime- No… This was something else. What was that: dread? Why would Lestrade ask for him? Why on Sherlock's phone? And if Sherlock knew what it was about, why wasn't he saying anything? Was it just Sherlock being his mysterious-self, or was there genuinely something he felt Watson couldn't find out at his hand?

The thought made John's stomach turn.

"You normally do this- Gallivant off before I have chance to put an extra word in," Cautiously began John, "What's so different this time?"

_"Different?"_ Guffawed the great detective, flashing his teeth in… What was that? An awkward smile? John prayed it wasn't. Dammit, it was. "Why is this different, John?" He laughed, "Let's be literal."

"Something's wrong. Don't lie to me Sherlock, not now."

Sherlock grinned an almost 'sly' grin, which nevertheless still managed to be placid and factual "Is there something wrong? I don't think there's anything wrong. Nothing apart from the fact that a text is aimed at you- Someone is asking for our help John, it's you they're specifically wanting. I can think of seven reasons for this occurrence and none of them are any more abnormal than usual. Now John, I think we should be on our way, don't you?" _Lies._ His words were rushed and he tried to move past John again only to be held back.

"Sherlock, tell me what's going on?" John's voice was softer, and he slightly relented his grip on the detective's coat, however Sherlock didn't move away. He was frozen, thinking again.

If there was one thing John trusted, it was his instinct. He thanked it for his survival in the war. He _noticed _if something was amiss. And no one, even Sherlock Holmes would make him question his faith in that.

Mrs Hudson watched the two men in and placed her dish cloth on the kitchen table, watching. If only John knew.

"John…" For probably the first time in half a year Sherlock struggled to find the right words, but soon enough he found them and they rolled of his tongue as if he'd rehearsed them countless of times. Nevertheless it was a confession of sorts, "I don't know what Lestrade wants you for- If I did, I'd tell you… I have an idea but how and why they got the girl is beyond me" He stopped, and sighed "John I can't prepare for this, you just have to go along with it. Please."

"Prepare me for what, Sherlock?- You're not making any sense!"

"I'm making perfect sense, you're just not following. For once, I'm the secondary man. This won't be a crime, Evangeline's not the sort."

There was the name again. Evangeline.

"Then which sort is she?"

"That's not for me to tell you."

_"Sherlock._" It was a demand. Heatedly, they exchanged glances.

The consulting detective swallowed. Upon any other occasion Sherlock would have won this, but for some reason he gave in. It didn't do much for John's spirit, it was more a worry then a good thing. "She's the sort of woman who would never dream of turning to us- to _you,_ unless her life depended on it. She doesn't want to know us- But now I think the tables have turned and we have no choice. Don't you understand? Please say you do, I can't stand to dawdle. It's very dull."

A moment of silence passed in which the pair just stared at each other. Sherlock's expression blank and illusive, John's open and worried.

It took Watson a moment, but he held up his hands in surrender "I guess you won't say anything more, will you?"- Sherlock nodded- "Ah. Right that's it I give up, let's go."

Sherlock blinked. Give up?- Oh. John really didn't understand. Even though, Sherlock couldn't see a reason why he would. Curtly, the two men left; Sherlock quick on his heels and Watson awkwardly behind, determined but never as sure.

_"Taxi!" Called Sherlock against the rain and the traffic, hailing out on the road. _

_With a small curse under his breath, John ambled out of the flat and after his friend, shutting the front door which Sherlock had left wide open in his urgency. _

_A black vehicle pulled up against the pavement, stalling a little as it braked. The two men pushed inside and clambered to their seats, shaking rain from their clothes._

Alone, Mrs Hudson breathed in slowly. "Poor John." She returned to dusting with now a new guest in mind, and what an addition she'd be.

* * *

"How did you acquire this information?" Demanded Lestrade, banging his fists against the table.

Evangeline rolled her eyes "I didn't acquire it. It's my _personal property _and I don't think, Inspector Lestrade, that this is your division. I'm not in custody am I?" Lestrade didn't answer, and Evangeline glowered at the man in frustration, "I was just at the wrong place at the wrong time!"

The silver-haired man looked strongly at the woman- Girl even, sat at a lone table in the middle staring at him with challenge in her dark eyes. She continued, "That information is mine. I haven't stolen it. I've had it for years and it is no reason to take me down here. Just because it's John Watson's name on the file does not mean I've stolen it!" A baffled laugh escaped her "Does your _employer_ know you're doing this?"

He rolled his shoulders, "You're a fan, aren't you? Of Watson's blog. You're not the only one who's done this, you know- Visit a potential crime scene just so you can meet your idols. Defecting our evidence just so you can demand their attention?"

Evangeline growled, tracing a small scar on her left hand gently, "I'm not here 'demanding their attention'- and I didn't defect your evidence on that crime scene. I didn't know coppers were going to be there did I?'" The young brunette folded her arms, "Ideally I'd not have to face this. Not today." She threw her head idly to the side, "And a fan? _Please. _Believe me inspector I am many things, but a fan isn't one of them."

"What makes you think that John Watson will believe that you actually own this personal information of his?" Lestrade wasn't buying it. The silly girl.

"Let him talk to me. Let me show him what I have."- A flash of an idea- "Or if not him then Sherlock; Sherlock _knows_ me, he wouldn't send me away."

"How does Sherlock Holmes know you? He doesn't take company in many people, Miss Monaghan."

She rolled her eyes and played with a pale brown curl of hair, "He's a friend, of a friend. Well, I say 'friend', I mean-"

A knock sounded on the navy blue door behind Lestrade, and the police inspector turned. Evangeline flicked her eyes upwards as Lestrade approached the door, and moved her head in to her hands with another cry of frustration.

"John, good- You're here." Announced Lestrade warmly, greeting Watson at the door; Evangeline didn't look up, she felt too ashamed to. Lestrade kept his smile; until a moment later when a pretty dismayed looking Sherlock joined John in the doorway. He sighed, "Sherlock, this isn't a crime, yet. At least, not your sort of crime- You're really not needed here."

"I know it's not a crime Lestrade I'm not an idiot. And of course I'm needed. When am I not needed?" Sherlock stepped past both men in to the room, causing them to exchange glances_, _knowing they could have never expected otherwise. Sherlock pivoted, "Actually, I'm pretty sure this is just a cry for help." He flicked his head towards the young woman who still didn't look up.

Ever so slightly, the great detective tilted his head to the side. Watching. Observing. Evangeline Monaghan had changed. She'd lost weight since he'd last seen her- Instantly the cogs began to turn, and the great Sherlock Holmes began to deduce everything about the younger individual.

Yes. This was a cry for help.

Sherlock swallowed, feeling a slight twist in his stomach as it became so very clear.

John was stood further back towards the door looking much more uncomfortable than his friend. Something had arisen in his mind- A thought that bewildered him in more ways than one- He pushed it aside.

"Miss Monaghan," Lestrade began, addressing John professionally, "Was found at the crime scene at the Lancaster case, sitting in the areas we had sectioned off. First I thought of her as an acquaintance of the victim, so the intention was to let her off. Then we had to check, by routine, that she hadn't taken anything of importance. We found these in her possession-" He gestured towards the seat opposite Evangeline, "Photos, of you, John: Your address, your emergency contact details- Which are, Sherlock's... Family history, medical records even a couple of bank statements- Dated to a few years ago but they're still here. She just had them in her bag."

"She's homeless; of course she'd carry them in her bag." Commented Sherlock, "She couldn't just leave them anywhere. Not when they're so personal. You've disguised that well though Evangeline, very well."- He paused, and for a second his eyes glanced over to John, "But not well enough."

The young round-faced woman gazed at Sherlock with a _don't-you-dare-put-me-in-shit_ face, one that John recognised from himself. This woman obviously knew Sherlock to some firm degree; she knew what he was capable of.

John was staring at the files in wonder and confusion. He turned his gaze to the girl, "How did you get these? These photos, these are old… Really old. These are from University- Dear god I haven't seen these in near twenty years"

Evangeline opened her mouth to speak but before she could-

"Of course they're old, John. Evangeline has this information because she has a right to get into contact with you, a right she doesn't like but still carries- Look at the way she folds her arms and stares incredulously; she doesn't want this. Too much pressure for a woman who was single raised by a drunk mother and estranged from many rules of society so is too ignorant to ask for help."

Evangeline looked ready to protest. Bastard-!

Sherlock continued, unaffected, "Northern raised looking at the way she plucks her eyebrows she wants to be noticed thinks her physical appearance makes up for how low she's fallen. How dull. Lestrade catching her was just a mere coincidence, most policemen would just assume it was a family member's details but he knows John's only immediate family is his sister and Evangeline has no evidence that supports her with the right to it, and being at a place we investigated is outwardly suspicious. You could argue she was there looking for us-"

Evangeline shuffled in her seat, heat flowing in to her cheeks as she shuffled into embarrassment. "Sher-"

"-But no-"He gestured to her with both arms, "Look at her stance. She's holding back information, important information. Why- Why, because she wasn't there for us John, another coincidence. Evangeline, either you know something about that case and went to relent or-" Sherlock stopped, "Oh. Wait. No. You went there for work! To that old desolate building, it was a safe place to carry out your job. Of course! Stupid."

The young woman looked away again. Dammit. How did he figure that out- Her wall was closing in around her. John's gaze grew harder. Damn.

Lestrade stepped back a little, allowing Sherlock's thoughts to run away with him.

"Yes, that's it! Not to sleep- No that'd be ridiculous because someone was murdered in that building and you feel that's unnerving as you're carrying death on your shoulders. The death of you mother, to be exact. The person who, John, she got a majority of your information from."

"What work exactly are you referring to?" Asked Lestrade.

Evangeline looked over, this time at John. She looked nervous, however the latter looked sympathetic. She swallowed. Idiot man was already worming in to her soul- A prospect she'd never wanted to accept from him before.

"…Do I know your mother? Why would she have my information?" John asked. Dammit- The walls were still getting closer, suffocating even.

"-Now Evangeline looks to John as if begging him not to find out her field of work. Clever, really. But because the man doesn't know her it's a poor judgement. She wants to impress him, to be good to him." Sherlock clasped his hands, "But obviously that's not going to work. John doesn't have the attachment to her like the one she naturally has to him and has avoided for years- Hence why she's never exploited John's details before. The only way this can be sorted is if she explains herself now. She wants help of some form him but is now confided as she realises she has to confess right here now, because John won't accept anything if not. Evangeline?"

Silence.

The young woman startled, "No. Not here. Sherlock don't make me-"

"You have no choice. How else will you explain this information?"

That-! Evangeline stopped and raked a hand through her hair.

"Oh no, this is bad, isn't it?" John began. "Sherlock is this bad?"

Evangeline hefted a shaky breath, and met Watson's eyes in a heartbroken stare. "John" –John turned his gaze from Sherlock back to her- "Just hear me out, John- I…"

Lestrade looked over to Sherlock and took him to one side. "Now, Sherlock- Is there actually anything illegal going on here? A homeless woman, what shall we-"

"That's John's choice. But no, there isn't. Clearly not. She does own that information, Lestrade. And we shall deal with her. Release her. She isn't a criminal, she's just fallen low. She needs John. I knew this would happen at some point or another."

"But how did she acquire it? That's the information only the government or relatives would be allowed access to. And the photos border on obsession."

Sherlock breathed in to answer-

"W_hat?! No… No! Jesus!" _John stood up, slowly, and almost dizzily stumbled from the chair.

Evangeline swallowed and stifled a cry, "John- Please, I'm so sorry."

"There we go." Stated Sherlock, turning back again to a very confused looking Lestrade "The truth is out; you said relatives, Lestrade. Surely you can see it?"

"See what?"

John's heart was in his throat. His eyes felt bleary. He felt bile and tears forming. This was beyond grief- This was everything he was being changed. All of his history altered by three words. The woman mistaken for a criminal opposite him now much more than just a woman. She horrified him, turned his world upside down and then spat him out on a slab. Shit shit shit-

"The face shape, the parallel height considering she's female, the turn-ups of their cheeks and hairline deducing for the age difference and the eyes: heterochromic like his own. Lestrade, Evangeline- She's-"

"My _daughter_?" Gasped John, "No. You can't. You're too old! Surely-" He stopped, he could see it now, as clear is daylight, "Oh shit… _Shit, Jesus. No."_

* * *

**A few hours (and a couple of drinks) later-**

John Watson was alone. He sat in the main room of his flat, dazed, leaning back in to the depths of the aging dark green armchair. In his right arm, he held a snifter- Sherlock's snifter, to be precise. He had never felt the need for brandy to ease his stress- Having a moral obligation not to turn to alcohol to ease his anxiety's or worries after returning from the war; but the events of the day had turned that all to potty (probably the understatement of the year). In the next room, he'd tuned out the voice of Sherlock trying to explain how the shower worked to their new house guest, and cursing loudly when she couldn't figure it out. In front of him, laid a set of papers: DNA results. The ones that proved everything Evangeline had said. He couldn't tear his eyes away from them.

_"It's simple science!" Exclaimed Sherlock from the other room. _

_A loud laugh sounded, "Simple science, my arse! What the hell have you done to it there's a-"_

_"An experiment. It's for an experiment!" Hissed Sherlock distantly, which shrouded the girl to laugh more._

John quickly took another small sip of the brandy and closed his eyes, feeling a headache forming behind his eyes.

How had this all happened?

Eventually, Sherlock emerged from the bathroom closing the door behind the sound of running water, his shirt sleeve dripping with water. "Ugh, ordinary people. Tedious." He complained, reaching for a cloth. John raised his arms to his face, almost in a praying motion as he placed down the snifter; he was trying to hide his emotions and failing.

"How long have you known?"

John's voice made Sherlock pause, only for a second before the consulting detective reached for the seat opposite John and sat down, rolling his damp arm sleeve up- followed by the other one to be neat. "About what?"

"About-" John swallowed_- Wasn't it plainly the most obvious thing he'd asked all day?_-, John struggled to find words, "About her- This, everything."

Sherlock wasn't going to lie. In fact, he appeared totally formal, "About a year"- John raised is head in utter horror- "John, she demanded I not tell you anything. So I compromised. I knew she was going to go downhill but she didn't want to believe it… She already had your photos and name, but I gave her our contact information; I figured one day she'd need it-"

"And medical records- Family history?"

"In case she contracted an illness and needed it consulting."

"You thought of _that_ before you considered I might actually want to know I have a nearly twenty year old daughter, living estranged- with a dead mother? A woman I went on three dates with when I was twenty, before she moved up to Staffordshire without a second word? This is rich, Sherlock. Just rich." The betrayal was evident in John's tone.

Sherlock shrugged, "I offered her a safe place if she ever needed it. I told her to tell you, but she wouldn't. I never stopped her."

John's left hand, which had bawled in to a fist leant his head against it with a sigh of defeat. "Earlier- You said she was going to that old house to _work. _You never said what sort of work."

"Can't you work it out?"

A moment of silence passed, John thought of an answer but didn't want to confront it- Never, would he want to confront it. He decided to ask another question, "When did you meet her?"

"John-"

"No. Tell me, Sherlock."

Sherlock briefly closed his eyes, "This shouldn't be me talking to you about this."

John was baffled, he let out a short, angry laugh, "It should _indefinitely_ be you. You've known about this for a long time, Sherlock. You've hidden it from me." He closed his eyes, "You've betrayed me."

John's words sliced at Sherlock, and although his stomach dropped for a moment he kept his cool. "John," He leaned forward, resting his elbows on to his knees and clasping his hands together, "These things are of a family matter. I know you… You'd rather the truth come from her than me."

"Bullshit." Snapped John, "When has 'moral obligation' stopped you ever before? If you had any morals Sherlock, you would have told me that I had a daughter long before today. Why now are you taking this new high ground?"

"John-"

"For God's sake, stop this 'John' crap and just tell me the truth."

Sherlock clenched his jaw, thinking. John's stare burned in to him like a furnace and he tried to distract it. Playing his 'Mister Cool' card as much as he could. He didn't want John to see how much this had turned his own world upside down too. His voice was softer, controlled, "You have those papers there in black and white. We took her to Molly earlier… You know this woman; this nineteen year old woman is your daughter, we've run tests. Evangeline is homeless, John. All these years she's had no-one to guide her or to help her. Ideally she thinks herself as independent but here she is with us now. She needs our help- Your help, in sorting her life together. I'm guessing first, by getting her out of her… 'Profession'. Don't you think really, at this time of confusion you talk to her about it? Get to know her, understand where this insane obsession of being self-sufficient has come from? Rather than take it out on me. I protected her, John. I gave her a way to find you if and when she needed it-"

The shower rang off.

Sherlock stood and reached for one of John's pajama tops that draped over the settee, beginning to walk over to the bathroom again.

"-Don't blame me for her wanting to keep out of our lives. And don't blame me for her profession. I only found out by chance. Pure and utter chance, John."

The bathroom door opened as John was lapsed in to silence. John and Evangeline exchanged a couple of hushed words through the crack of the door, before Sherlock passed John's top through to her. The door shut again.

John rubbed his lips together, fighting back the urge to cry- One he hadn't felt in a long time. "Sherlock… I- I don't know what to do. How the hell am I supposed to know what to do now? For god's sake Sherlock, you're scaring me... What is her job? Please."

"You do whatever you think is right." Slowly, the great detective moved back over to John, his presence oppressive, his expression contrite. "John…She's a prostitute. I couldn't mention it at the station; the police would have taken her in. I figured, we bring her here, let her explain herself, and then somehow we sort her out."

With a soft creak, the bathroom door opened and light spilled on to the hallway.

John didn't make a sound; it felt as if his heart had stopped. He had a daughter. A daughter- For God's sake. A daughter who needed help. A daughter, who was a prostitute. John Watson had a nineteen year old daughter. A homeless daughter. How? Christ, he felt enclosed, disoriented, dizzy, nauseous.

Evangeline stepped in to view, taking her place in Sherlock's usual seat. Dressed in nothing but undergarments and John's own shirt, which hung much bigger on her than him. For the first time, in the trepid silence that covered the expanse of the entire flat, John Watson studied his daughter with a sore eye.

Sat before him was a young woman with light brown hair, dampened by the shower; It rested just above the midline of her reasonably sized chest in a gentle curl, which he knew from earlier possessed more velocity when it was dry. She had a small spherical face, one undyingly similar to his own, except her eyes were wider, and her features were less blemished. However, he saw the dark circles under her eyes, bought on by a great number of things he figured. She was skinny, and looked a bit uncomfortable at the weight she was. Had she struggled for food on the streets? With a slight grudge, John had to acknowledge how small she appeared, he guessed she was probably about 5"3 give or take an inch. His small height clearly had passed on. _'Passed on'_- John recoiled from his own thoughts. It was too much for him.

Then he began to notice the details- Or in better words, the scars. From where she was, he could see one on her left hand, another larger one on the right side of her neck that nearly stretched on to her collar-bone. How had she gotten those? John swallowed; somehow he knew there would be more.

"What are you looking at?"

John blinked, "What?"

Evangeline blinked, and looked almost bemused, "You've been staring at me… For about a minute."

"A minute and a half" Declared Sherlock, who'd disappeared in to the kitchen.

A small laugh erupted the young woman's throat, but John just furrowed his brow. She paused, "Are you sure you're alright? If it helps… I'm not alright either. Not at all, utterly and completely, not alright." She grinned a small defeated smile.

"Ah. Okay… Good, I feel like I'm going mad." Admitted John, finally the corners twitching just at the scale of the situation.

"I don't blame you. I remember when I found out who you were, mum was livid. I'm surprised you haven't put your head through a wall."

_Mum. _John visibly tensed up.

John swallowed, "So you haven't always known, then? A-About me?"

"God, no. I used to have this thing about crime… And I read your blog in the local library. Then one day, I saw you both in the paper. I showed it to mum- No idea why I did, I knew she wouldn't be interested. But… She lost it, absolutely went barmy. Shouting 'You can never look into this again', and 'The player doesn't deserve your damn interest'-" John winced at that, "Later, she was crying, she was too intoxicated to know, but she told me that you were my dad. I was bloody out of it in shock, and I promised her not to do anything to contact you. She lectured me rambling on about how you abandoned her and treated her horribly, but deep down I knew you hadn't. She always had a terrible hold on me, she'd not let me go for anyone. Anyway… After she died, I moved- Well, ran away to London to find you. It was either that or social workers and council houses so-"

"Wait. Uhm," John quietly bit out the words, "Your mother- Sarah… What did she, what did she die from-"

"Overdose." Answered the girl simply with a soft breath, "Don't worry though. She was a horrible woman at the end, you had a lucky escape."

"A lucky escape? If I'd have known, I wouldn't have joined the army; I would have stayed here, for you. I could have helped your mother…" John trailed off, trying to force away the terrible pang in his heart. Even if he hadn't had any deep feelings for Evangeline's mother, and the fact that their relationship had been incredibly short-lived; John knew he would have stayed.

"No need to get cliché John, it's in the past." Omitted Evangeline with a small shrug.

_First name terms, okay. _

Sherlock re-emerged from the kitchen, carrying a tray with three cups for tea. A bit odd for him, John thought- He was taking a step back, and John respected him for that. Sherlock smiled lightly, "John think of it like this. If you had known you'd probably be living a basic, boring life right now- All about parenthood and the national lottery and Big Brother… Instead you have me, and here we are solving crimes by the day, living on the edge." Sherlock grinned, "And you love it."

Evangeline coughed, moving to pour herself some tea, "Oh! Sorry, I hadn't realized. Are you both… I mean, I never expected my dad to be-"

"No," Spluttered John, flashing Sherlock a cursing expression, "Not _at all_."

"Oh" She laughed, a little awkwardly and drew the tea to her lips to avoid the awkward silence that fell, "Mm, lovely brew."

"Brew?" Sherlock frowned, "Oh, that's right you're Northern. Of course." A silence passed for a few seconds just, before a sounding laugh from the great Sherlock Holmes shocked them both.

"Sherlock? What's so funny?"John was appalled. _Nothing_ was funny right now. Trust this to be the moment when Sherlock decided to grow a sense humour.

"John!" Laughed Sherlock, grinning like a wild school boy, "Evangeline. Your daughter, she's _Northern!_ Your daughter is Northern!_" _

Evangeline quirked an eyebrow.

"Sherlock that's rude, stop it." John scolded, but actually, a smirk had begun to form behind his expression too.

"I'm sorry, John. But think of the reality of it! You have a daughter from the North, all that 'Ee bah gum' and 'what's gooin' off!' and, Oh! 'It's a bit black o're Bill's mother!'" He gripped on to the back of Evangeline's chair to stop him from falling with laughter.

"Stop being a dick, Sherlock." John interrupted, but he saw Evangeline smiling and visibly relaxed a little. Suddenly, it wasn't so terrifying. Just for that moment when they all managed to laugh.

"It's alright, let him get it out of his system. We all have to at some point."

With a small smile, John and his daughter waited for the consulting detective to calm himself down. "Blimey Sherlock, it's been a while since you've had an outburst like that." He commented, arching a brow at his friend.

Sherlock shrugged, "Ah. It's good to get it out of your system once in a while."- He thumped his chest, "Great for the lungs."

"Thanks." Commented Evangeline sarcastically, whilst placing her tea back down on the tray "Um, yeah. So… Look, sorry for changing the atmosphere. But… I do, I do need your help. I was at that crime scene today for a reason. I was trying to sort it myself, but now I'm here I can't just stop trying to figure it out. But, I don't think it's your usual sort of case… You might not want to take it." Sherlock looked bored. Evangeline made the only deduction she could, and sighed, "Sherlock you knew this when you walked in today didn't you?"

"Of course."

"Then why didn't you say anything?"

"You mean like how I didn't say anything about your profession?" – She nodded grimly, "Because I'm figuring it's all probably illegal and secret, and if I told Lestrade the truth whilst I was there you would have been arrested before you got chance to sort things with John." She looked away, "You remember our deal, Evangeline. You come in to mine or John's life any way at all and you had to tell him everything." Sherlock sighed briefly, looking over at his colleague with sadness on his face, "I don't like keeping things secret from my friends unless it's absolutely necessary."

_Oh. So he did care. _

"Tell us what's going on, Evangeline?" Encouraged Sherlock as John poured himself another cup of tea.

The young woman shuffled in the shirt that she was wearing, damp from her wet hair resting on it and slowly she began to talk, "I work in this… How do I put this, little 'band' of girls at the moment; We have a boss, he tells us which streets are the safest, we go, work, and then give him a certain percentage of however much we earn."

"Boring. Tell us what's important."

"No wait, I think that's important," Cut in John, eyes concerned, "How old were you when you came down to London?"

"I'd just turned eighteen. At Staffordshire… They have me recorded as missing."

"Missing? What about an education, University?"

She shrugged, "Failed my a-levels. Not that it mattered, I was absent nearly all the time looking after mum, she was so unstable. There is no life for me in a proper job."

"Wait, you're nearly twenty… Have you been working on the streets for two years? Shit." Gasped John, jaw dropping slightly as guilt began to clench at everything inside him.

"No… Well, not exactly. A woman helped me at first, before she 'went away' too." Briefly, her eyes glanced over to Sherlock, "I was with her for almost a year. Actually, that's how I met Sherlock. He was doing a job for her, ran in to me, deduced within minutes who I was… We argued, and he agreed to keep his mouth shut, however he gave me your information and a bit of money too."

"Money?" Blinked John, "You gave her money?"

"I wasn't going to let her starve on the streets John. Look at her, she's a Watson."

_She's a Watson. _John swallowed, and Evangeline blushed.

"I mean it wasn't that much, and it wasn't our money either… It was Mycroft's."

"There's a shock." John rolled his eyes, and Sherlock shot him a_ don't-complain-I-did-good_ face.

"Look, anyway. Something bad is happening, on the streets." John put down his tea, and Sherlock angled himself at a better position to look at her, "I don't know how to explain it… The girls, they say that 'Jack the Ripper's come back', I mean- That's the best explanation we have. There's been eight of us killed in the last six months. Out of nowhere."

"Do the police know?" Breathed John, eyes wide.

"Don't be daft, of course not. If we go to the police-"

"-Then they find about everything and you all end up either in prison, split up, or just unemployed" Sherlock finished, his voice airy and somehow unnerving.

Haltingly, Evangeline nodded, "But the thing is- The real kicker… With all of them, either before or sadly after they're killed, we realize they're all with child."

"All of them?"

She nodded again. Suddenly it felt as if the room had gotten colder. "There's now eleven of us left… But I think that's going go. One by one, we all end up pregnant, and then killed. Mutilated, even."

John winced as a shiver ran up his spine. The poor girls, those poor unfortunate souls. His eyes met his daughter's for a brief second, and she forced them away. She couldn't face him now. And suddenly the horror dropped on him full pelt; this easily would've been his daughter… Or, even more terrifying, she could be next.

She swallowed slowly and drew in a shallow breath, shakily brushing hair that had fallen into her eye line. Small tears threatened to fall from her eyes, and then they both knew she was absolutely terrified, "I'm asking- No, I'm _begging _you… Please help. You're the great Sherlock Holmes and the amazing Doctor Watson. There's nothing you can't solve."

John sat back a little, feeling overwhelmed, he turned to Sherlock. The latter looked serious, but not at all fazed as them. He pressed his hands to face in a praying motion, tapping his fingers against his upper lip. "Jack the Ripper…" He murmured against his hands, "Jack the Ripper in 21st century London…? I_ love_ it."

"Sher-"

Something had sparked in Sherlock's head, something wonderful "All the drama- The fact that the police c_an't _get involved! Oh, I've waited a long time for a case like this, I tell you. All those lives at stake- Yes, yes! And these woman all pregnant, why pregnant? Why so many of them? I tell you why" He leant down next to Evangeline who looked albeit horrified, "Because this case is just _screaming_ to be solved! John, call Mycroft. I'm cancelling our monthly brotherly afternoon of 'social and genetic oppression'- aka. Lunch, tomorrow. Much more important things to do. Yes. Brilliant." He winked at Evangeline, "Oh my dear, you're a godsend. Has anyone ever told you that?"

"Um. No, actually."

"Well they should have! Now I need to think. Bring me a nicotine patch will you? In fact- Bring me two. Yes, two. Ah!"

He began to head to his bedroom, when Mrs Hudson entered the room, carrying her own tray.

"Would any of you like some toast?"

_"God yes." _

Silence.

Sherlock flicked his head around, staring at the bedazzled father and daughter gaping in shock, and slight horror. He smirked, "Speaking in sync…? Bit soon for that, don't you think? God forbid John's only just found out you're related today." He leant over the backrest of John's chair; hands placed either side of the doctor's head, "See John?" He gestured to the young woman again, "Evangeline, oh- Oh… You're _such _a Watson."

He left abruptly, and Mrs Hudson gave a little shake of her head, walking back over to the still aghast pair. She gently put down her own tray and turned to Evangelline, "Welcome to 221B Baker Street, my dear."

* * *

Later, Evangeline slept on the settee, draped in Sherlock's bedsheets like an angel in golden dust. John swallowed hard, holding his toothbrush in hand as he'd just left the bathroom. She was peaceful. He looked at the young woman for a few minutes, and drew his free hand through his hair. It all seemed a bit surreal. A bit too impossible to be true. And yet here she was a miracle. He had the dna test to prove that. All this time in life he had been alone before he had found Sherlock, little did he know that he had a key to give his life purpose hidden in plain sight the entire time. Silently, he prayed a little thought. A little thought, with such a strong purpose. Such emotion's John wasn't used to feeling. But now, he couldn't think of anything else. Someone was killing this girl's 'friends' in the worst way possible, and he knew he had to save her. No matter what.

* * *

Sherlock rolled in his bed, uncomfortable. First Mrs Hudson insists they use his bed sheets as the girl's quilt, then she leaves him her own spares as a compromise. The detective had cursed, _'Hardly designer, Mrs Hudson. Surely a homeless woman would be better off in these.' _

The gasps in shock and offence expressed from John and the latter meant Sherlock had instantly lost his argument. So now he lay in plush, slightly warm burgundy fabric decorated with purple lilies with lilac sequins for decoration. How degrading.

The detective took a moment to reflect on the day, and he knew it was the start of everything changing; Especially for him and John, even when eventually this woman would leave to make a better life for herself- Which was his plan- It'd cause a big change in John, and he worried about exactly how big of one. John was a risk taker, what if he lost that instinct because he had a daughter to be with, to protect.

It seemed almost inevitable, but all that Sherlock could do was offer John time to adjust. This wasn't like one of John's 'adventures' with a lady-friend. This was quite the opposite. And Sherlock had to regretfully admit, that some families just had attachments to each other. One that he and his brother certainly didn't have.

A buzz sounded against the detective's bedside table.

Sherlock moaned in to the hilariously awful bed sheets and rolled over, reaching for his phone.

_'What are you doing with Evangeline?_

_I'm trusting you, Sherlock._

_I.'_

Irene Adler. She wasn't even in England anymore, how on earth did she know about this? It had been months since she'd texted him, respecting that after he'd saved her life that they couldn't see each other again. And anyway, Evangeline was just one of Irene's old pupils- What was so important about her?

Sherlock groaned, ready to put his phone back when it vibrated again.

"For God's sake…" Whispered the detective. However this next text made him wake up. His blood ran cold.

_'Hello, Sherlock :-)_

_JtR'_

"A text from Jack The Ripper" Sherlock bit in to the night, "Whatever next?"

* * *

**Well, there you are! Things are explained better as the story progresses, in the next chapter there will be the full story of how Sherlock and Evangeline met. And you can expect some Irene/Sherlock too :)**

**Hope you've enjoyed it, please leave a review/follow; as my first Sherlock fanfiction I do need inspiration to keep writing it. Also, college starts next week- So If you want another chapter soon as possible- You'll have to keep bug me ;-)**

**Emily **


	2. Conflicts, Deductions, and Negotiations

**Hello again! Just a quick message telling you I'm so happy about how well this has taken off already! Thank you so much for all the follows/reviews, and 200+ hits on the website overall! You've made me very happy!**

**By the way, college started yesterday so updates might take a little while, but I will try to be as quick as I can with them. Because I have a six-day week because I train at a specialist music academy as well, it's harder- But I promise I'll not make you wait _too _long, honest!**

* * *

**The Kettle's Boiled**

**Chapter Two- Conflicts, Deductions, and Negotiations **

_God, it reeked. A man wrinkled his nose in revulsion silently cursing the place where he had ended up. If his mother knew, she'd never forgive him. Then again, his mother was old now and less of a threat, the only power she had was in the inheritance she was to handover. The man packed away his wallet, away from prying- And oh, they would be prying- eyes, walking further into the oppressive alley in south London. He felt wet, as if it had rained, and yet it hadn't all night. Out of the view from streetlights, he was succumbed in darkness. If only he had found a wife, he thought; then he wouldn't be submitting to this._

_And submitting, he certainly was._

_His mother wasn't a good topic of thought so he locked it in a metaphorical box, threw it in a metaphorical lake and then disposed of the metaphorical key. He felt the beating of his heart increasing slowly; teasingly, enticing even. With the idealization of where he was heading he smiled away from the main streets and the squalor. He scorned himself for enjoying the concept, knowing before this he had been an honest religious man. He approached his usual corner, dank and dark, and knocked on a door of a late Victorian lower class home. Except, it wasn't the Victorian era anymore- It may as well have been given the circumstance. _

_"Yes?" Hissed a voice from the other side of the door, "What do you want?"_

_"I'm here for your 'service' madam." _

_The door opened, and a tall thin woman stood before him- Hair red but tinted yellow, in desperate need of being recolored, "Which one of us do you want?"_

_"The usual, if she's available."_

_The woman narrowed her eyes a little and sighed, "She's not here, Vincent . Haven't seen her since this morning, probably some punter left 'er feeling stale."_

_It was like a dagger in his head. Vincent swallowed, "It's fine. Leave it then. I'll be back in two days, make sure she's back." He started in aim to leave._

_"Wait!" Called the woman, her voice still a whisper in the bleak night, and she arched her head outside, for a moment being graced in moonlight before a cloud covered her again, "I figured she was with you-"_

_"Well, it seems you were wrong-"_

_"What if it wer Jack she's with?"_

_Vincent paused. He knew exactly who she meant and he wished it were even remotely true. It wasn't. "No, she won't be. Don't be absurd. She's wise, she is."_

_"Blimey, look at you… Complementing a whore, I'm impressed." The woman smiled a lopsided grin and rested her head against the door's hinges. _

_"Evangeline is a good woman. I don't take pride in saying that, but she is."_

_"Mm, very true. Anyway, Vincent, I suppose that-"_

_A scream sounded down the alley, several screams, rabid, angry screams, and then silence. _

_The silence was more painful to hear than the screaming._

_The woman's draw dropped, "Shit!" She burst from the home and turned to move in the direction of the shouts in the dark. Vincent ran after her. Dammit. _

_Running, Vincent's heart pounded in his ears. Everything in him was on fire, leering, learning, dying. _

_He was thrown aside._

_His head smacked against the dirtier brick of the alley, with a sounding 'Thwack!' and just before he collapsed in to darkness he saw the woman moving quickly after a dark, silhouetted figure in a long cloak…_

_Later- However later he didn't know- Vincent came back around, a sounding headache forming and booming through his head. He winced, resisting the unease of his stomach and leaned his against the wall. _

_At his side a phone laid in the dirt, it's screen cracked but still lit. Vincent frowned and reached for it, squinting his eyes as his vision swayed a little. On the phone screen read a text, a simple, terrifying message._

_'Hello, Sherlock. :-)_

_JtR'_

_Vincent blinked and after a few moments forced himself to his feet and- although he considered throwing the phone away- slipped it into his pocket and began to walk a slow and tedious journey home._

* * *

The next morning, John Watson woke up to find his room bleak- Painfully so. The darkness echoed around his olive covered walls, spanning a dark green shadow to cross over his face. A crack through his simple curtains shon, and a blistering beam of yellow light tore across the bed. For a moment, John forgot about everything- All his worries, doubts, and terrible anxieties. His first thoughts basic and plain, _'How's my sister doing?'_, and _'What's Sherlock's mad scheme for today going to be?'_ Then the smell of cooking from lower in the flat filtered in to his senses, and he remembered everything.

Like an anchor dropping into the deepest ocean, he remembered- He physically tensed, sat up and gripped the quilts either side of him, eyes widening as his functions kicked back in. "Oh god," moaned John in the empty room against the quiet, his voice shaky and lost, "Oh god, oh god, oh god."

The thought horrified him in more ways than one: Downstairs, his daughter was asleep in his own shirt. His nineteen, nearly twenty year old homeless daughter. The woman with the northern accent and eyes exactly like his own. The one, whose life although not technically was at stake was still in much danger, given her job and circumstances she had with it. Guilt gripped in his heart; If only he had known all those years ago, maybe everything would be different now. Deep down he knew it would have been.

The army doctor sighed, and grudgingly reached for his mobile.

_'Three missed calls, Seven new messages'_

John blinked. Seven? And all overnight? Why? He rested the phone on his knee for a moment, before pressing '_Unlock'._

The three missed calls were all from Sherlock, one at 3:21am, one at 3:40am, and another at 4:17am. Typical. Sherlock had probably had a discovery in a case they hadn't started investigating yet and meandered off to solve it in the middle of the night. But why hadn't John woken up if his phone had gone off so many times?

Narrowing his brow, he divulged his attention at the messages. Five out of the seven were from Sherlock. Great.

_'Evangeline's crying on our landing. Should I go her? _

_This is your sort of thing._

_-SH'_ – 3:07am

Shit. Evangeline was troubled… He should've known. The poor girl. How had he slept through this?

_'She sounds upset._

_-SH' _3:19am

_'Answer your phone. Or come and sort it._

_If not, I will; Impossible to sleep with the sound._

_-SH' _3:24am

John swallowed, silently praying Sherlock hadn't gone and left his room; somehow he knew that his flatmate's 'woman comforting' abilities weren't good. He had a tendency to make things like this worse by being painfully blunt- Or in a better way of putting it, "Like Sherlock." He continued to read.

_'You're not answering. I'm going out to her._

_Could be dangerous. _

_-SH' _3:46am

For some reason, John smiled, smirked, and then laughed a small laugh to himself. 'Could be dangerous'?- _Please._ Since when could a crying nineteen year old woman be as dangerous as standing off assassins at gun point or being threatened with destructive acts of terrorism? Sherlock _really_ didn't understand women. And suddenly the fact that he had gone outside became a bad one, he wouldn't be surprised if Sherlock had offended Evangeline and she'd lost it. Although, he would have woken up if she'd been angry, wouldn't he? He scrolled downwards:

'_Under control. Don't come down, see you in the morning. _

_Don't worry- I know you will be._

_-SH' _4:29am

Complacently, John read the text once, twice and a third time, his mouth a simple line. He exhaled and stood up to head downstairs, wanting to know what on earth had happened last night. Briefly, whilst trudging down the staircase he glanced at the other two texts. One was from Lestrade, another from Molly- Both asking if he was okay, with Molly adding "Come to me if you need to talk about anything"- Decidedly, he didn't want to face either of them, not until he could face himself with the new person in his life without a heart full of fear and shame.

The smell of early morning cooking was coming from Mrs Watson's flat; he could hear her ambling around downstairs. Last night she'd said she'd make Breakfast for them all- Thus saving John the pressure and the sad reality that was Sherlock Holmes's cooking. John noted he'd have to thank her when she was done. It had gone past 10am, and John was confused when he saw Sherlock wasn't up and about.

"Sherlock?" He called- No response.

Nervously, he stepped in to the living room- And stopped. Evangeline wasn't there, nor was her bedding or her bag. "Oh no…" John moaned. "Dammit Sherlock!"

He'd obviously angered her and she'd stormed out. There was no alternative. Damn Sherlock. Damn it! Perhaps Sherlock had gone after her and that's why he wasn't in now- That'd make sense. Quickly John pressed down the stairs and in to Mrs Hudson's kitchen.

She startled, nearly dropping a saucepan at the ferocity at which he entered, "John! Oh!" A small laugh escaped her, "Gosh, silly me…"

"Where's Sherlock? Have you seen him? Have you seen Evangeline?" His words were fast, sharp, angry, and confused.

Mrs Hudson blinked, and then smiled, "My dear I've seen them both- Haven't you? It's very nice Sherlock looking after her like that…" She picked up a spatula and admired it, "Mind you, I bet it was just a ploy to get his bed sheets back- You know what he's like."

"What do you mean?"

The older woman turned with niceness in her expression. "I didn't have the heart to wake them. They were flat out of it."

Behind Mrs Hudson were the burgundy bed sheets she'd given Sherlock; all folded and newly ironed.

"-They were talking last night, their voices woke me in the early hours. No wonder they're shattered. Now, John- If you're ready you can go get them up, Breakfast's nearly done and I shan't have them eating it cold. Crumpets are never good cold."

John was lost for words. He just nodded numbly, and clambered up the stairs back in to their flat. Sherlock never slept in late and his sleeping hours had always been irregular. Something pulled in John's stomach. What had Sherlock done? He stepped down the corridor to his flatmate's room, and hesitated before easing it open.

The sight before him nearly made him faint.

Tucked up in bed (made up now of Sherlock's on sheets back in place) was the said man himself, and Evangeline, wrapped up in his arms with her head curled in the crevice of his arm.

John was motionless, just for a moment, and then he began to panic. How? How?! What had happened last night? Swallowing, John forced himself to acknowledge the details. Both clothed. Yes. Good. Wait- _Both clothed? _Since when would John even lightly think of Sherlock doing something of _that _nature? No, not Sherlock. But then again, John had never seen any person- male or female- with Sherlock in bed before. But this wasn't just a woman. This was Evangeline. His daughter. Surely Sherlock hadn't done anything reckless? For god's sake- She was greatly younger than him. Her cheeks were still a little blotchy, suggesting she had been crying. Sherlock wasn't good at comforting people, not ever- So what the h_ell _was going on?

Scarcely being able to feel his own breaths, John stepped back a little and knocked on the door. None of them stirred. At the second attempt, a small moan escaped Evangeline's mouth and she moved slightly closer to Sherlock. John's jaw tightened. A third try- This time, it was almost violent and lasted longer.

"Okay, I get it!" Echoed the detective, flashing his eyes open. Groggily, he nudged Evangeline off him and she began to move slowly, moaning loudly in annoyance. Sherlock sat up, hair messy, and folded his arms, "John. It's rude to wake a grown man, you now that?"

"Piss off." Bit John, gripping on to the door handle a little tighter. He paused, clenching his teeth "Mrs Hudson's made crumpets"

"Crumpets, why?"- It clicked- "Ah, yes. Crumpets. Breakfast. Food. Great." Sherlock yawned, and then his eyes focused on John, eyes a little brighter, making the simplest deduction he could. He paused. He sighed, "John, I texted you not to worry and that I had it under control. Now what are you doing? Worrying. No- You're angry even. "

"Control? You call this 'under control?' God Sherlock, Evangeline's in your bed!"

"I'm aware." Sherlock frowned, "She makes it terribly stuffy."

"What the hell happened here last night?" Demanded John, eyes unmoving.

Evangeline, beginning to stir sat up as Sherlock opened his mouth to speak. "-John, I'm sorry. Nothing dodgy happened." She looked at him, honestly, "I… Just couldn't sleep alone, and Sherlock didn't make me."

At the sound of his daughter's voice he appeared to soften. John couldn't fathom why that was his instant reaction, but it was.

He recalled his vicious insomnia after the war- _after Reichenbach_- John pushed the thoughts away. "How long have you been having trouble sleeping?"

The young woman inhaled a shaky breath, "It's not- Well, it doesn't happen all the time. I suppose, after the killing's started? Anyway, my job… It, it does terrible things to your head."

John sighed. That was something he understood.

"I'm sorry."

Evangeline blinked and shrugged, "No- No, don't be. You weren't to know. I figured off the streets it wouldn't be a problem…"

"It's only your first night here, Evangeline"- Sherlock cut in, drawling the words as if he'd said them hundreds of times already; which he probably had- "You can't just expect this to stop instantly. All of us here are practically strangers to you."

She nodded numbly, and bought the quilt up around her neck. There was a moment of silence, before the young woman looked up at the army doctor who was still glaring viciously at the detective, "Look John, if it helps Sherlock isn't my type… So there's no need to panic."

Something flashed in the consulting detective's eye then, and he smirked a little.

John swallowed, not noticing this, and let his shoulders droop, "Anyway as I said, Mrs Hudson's made crumpets for us. She won't want them getting cold."

He left the room, awkwardly dragging on his heels.

"'Not your type?'" Muttered Sherlock after a moment's silence, a grin forming on his face, "Never have I heard such propaganda."

Evangeline blinked, "Excuse me, Sherlock Holmes? I don't recall anything happening, between us, ever." Sherlock raised his eyebrows, retort prepared- "And don't bring up the first time we met. Because nothing happened: I just misread you, and _you_ _know_ that."

"Doesn't mean you didn't just lie to John. I saw your face." Triumphantly, he swung his legs over his side of the bed and stretched his arms over his head.

"My face?" Muttered Evangeline, "What on earth is so giving about _my face?"_

Sherlock let out a small breath and walked around the bed to face her, leaning against the foot of it with his hands, "I see your face and I can read your whole world, every little detail about you. For example I know that although I was gentlemanly with you last night you were not crying about your work, you were crying about your childhood- Bad memories, some so deep you've repressed them. I see the ache, the longing to be loved but you're too independent to admit that. I also see the intelligence they've deprived you of. That cleverness behind a destitute face. You think yourself different but you're ordinary and that scares you. I also see you as an ordinary person, with ordinary likes and dislikes." He stopped, pulled a _you-have-no-idea_ face, before speaking, "You like cats, dogs are a bit too scruffy and yet you'd rather have one as there was one in your childhood, a beagle named Dexter. You appreciate classical music more than you actually let off and yet you only discuss modern artists. I see how you're terrified of your boss, probably because he mistreats you- Not surprising given the profession- And yet you've never uttered a word. Stout man, a drinker, likes musicals, a reclusive gay, doesn't like children…" Sherlock paused and then grinned, "Actually, this is the very person I want to see first for your case. Of course. Stupid."

Evangeline narrowed her eyes at him, "You got _all that_ from my face?"

Sherlock shrugged, "Well, and your sleeping position. It's not too hard to work out."

She laughed, and clambered out of bed walking to the door. Turning, she stared the detective in the eye; she didn't look as amazed as he had hoped, as amazed as John normally would have been. Evangeline combed through her light brown curls with her fingers and smiled. "You still haven't explained how you figured out about 'my type'?"

"As you said; The first time we met. I take that as evidence enough-"

"Bloody hell, Sherlock really that wasn't-"

"I'm not saying it was, Evangeline. But the signs were there... Despite the circumstance."

She blinked, and pouting moved one hand to the door handle, the other to her hip, "What signs?"

"Do you really want me to list them?" Sherlock had a small smile like a teenage boy. That-! And grudgingly, Evangeline realized she'd lost her argument. Bastard.

"I'm going for breakfast." She hissed, walking out and shutting the door behind her.

Sherlock simply chuckled, one simple thought ringing through his head once again. She was such a Watson, whether they believed that or not. The little things that made John, John, were all twisted and displayed a new way- But you didn't have to be a genius to deduce them. You certainly didn't have to be a hyperactive sociopath, either. Evangeline Monaghan was Evangeline Watson. And after their talk last night, Sherlock for the first moment didn't think it as disastrous to have her around because she was the only person who, in a long time, had looked at him as if he was normal. He didn't know why-But she did. She looked at the great Sherlock Holmes, and deduced him to be ordinary.

He couldn't fathom a time when anyone had done that since he was a toddler.

* * *

**Later:**

"I want you two to go out today," Exclaimed Sherlock, bustling through drawers to find certain files. John blinked at his flatmate in confusion. "You go out, enjoy yourselves."

This was new.

"Sherlock, we have a case to solve. A dangerous, emergency case and you suggest you I don't go with you?" Asked John, baffled chasing the former as he raked through drawers leaving more mess behind than necessary.

Evangeline at the other side of the room was slipping in to a skirt that belonged to Mrs Hudson, and one of Sherlock's dress shirts. Shameless to say she found it more humiliating than anything she'd worn in a long while.

"That's exactly what I'm saying, John. I'll handle the case. I have some leads already and I got most of the information I need from Evangeline last night. If I need you, I'll text you."

"Women are being murdered Sherlock, you can't go by this alone. What if something dreadful happens to you?"

Sherlock turned, frowned, and now held a file at his side. "Am _I _a woman, John?"

That-! John rolled his eyes, "Sher-"

"Am _I_ going to get pregnant, John?"

"For God's sake!"

"No I'm not. I think you'll find this isn't actually that dangerous, not yet anyway. Not for me."

John glowered, walked away and sat on the settee. Bastard. How could this not be dangerous?

"Anyway," Sherlock continued, reaching in to a pocket, "Evangeline looks like she's been dragged through a hedge backwards and through again. She needs clothes." Walking over, he slipped a credit card into the woman's hands, she gaped at him. He saw the denial on her face and upcoming protest. He cut her off, "Now now don't complain. Go in to town, and for god's sake get some decent things to wear. Take John with you."

She was offended. "I can't just spend your money!-"

Sherlock shrugged, "It's not mine. Take it from a man who needs nothing but owns everything, my brother. I acquired this card a while ago. He won't need it. I take things from people when they bore me."

John saw Evangeline clench her jaw and straight away knew that Sherlock had crossed the line. For a brief moment she examined the silver bank card distastefully, before meeting Sherlock's hard gaze again.

She narrowed her eyes, "No. I'm not stealing. You can't just throw me around and buy things for me-"

"I'm not buying things for you you're buying them for yourself. Look at you, Evangeline. You clearly haven't owned much in a long time. Take this as a gift for your efforts to survive."

John stepped over to his flatmate, recognizing the anger in the woman's eyes. John knew he looked like that when he was angry, "Sherlock I wouldn't-"

"My _efforts _to survive? You don't think I could have managed?"

"Frankly, no." Muttered the detective, "Just take the card, buy the clothes; go and-" He smiled sweetly- "Have a nice day with your father, there's a good girl."

"You son of a bitch!" She laughed, "You can't talk to me like you have all this power, just because you're the great Sherlock Holmes. You're a man who less than a year ago faked your own death and have to live undercover. You're as bad as me. You can't make assumptions I'll just steal money because of what I am."

"You're not stealing money, I'm giving you money-"

"From a credit card that you've stolen from your brother!"

"I don't see your issue. I'm guessing half the men who pay you are using stolen cards and identities. It's nothing different. And you'd never refuse any sort of money they offered you, would you?"

S_nap. _John's jaw dropped and Sherlock stooped back before he could register what had happened. Evangeline raised her head, staring at the palm of her hand and gave it a light shake. "Wanker!" She stormed from the room and went downstairs, keeping tears from her eyes. John paused, before going after her.

Sherlock slowly stood up straight again, baffled. The stinging in his cheek becoming clear. He wound his jaw around, and turning to the mirror, he saw the girl's hand print scorched red in the flesh of his cheek bone.

He smirked to himself, "…And yet she still leaves with the card."

Sherlock reached for the phone in his pocket, and scanned over the messages from the night before. Somehow, this 'JtR' had acquired Sherlock's phone number, meaning it was through someone he knew. He rang it, and groaned as it went straight to voicemail. However, he knew what his plan was. Irene Adler's message could wait.

He was going to meet Evangeline's 'boss'.

* * *

**East Walworth- South London**

"Another one," Murmured a young woman, standing over a mess of flesh, resisting gripping nausea, "Another one… Why, why?"

Behind her, a stout man loomed, arching his balding head in distaste, "This is outrageous! I had this place deemed as safe by the committee yesterday. Savannah didn't need this. Fucking hell."

The blonde woman turned to the older, fatter man and sighed, "Someone's got a vengeance on us, I bet. The lord is castin' his hand over the one's who don't do his bidding."

"Don't speak of religion!" Spat the man, bearing untamed teeth, "This isn't God. This is the devil."

The woman winced at that, and with a shaking hand she rested it against her forehead. "What shall we do with 'er… Remains?"

"Leave that," Muttured the older man, "Leave 'em 'ere. We tried the last four with acid and it's not working-"

_"Perhaps use one with a higher PH- You know, like hydrofluoric acid over hydrocholoric; Even a sufficient amount of coke would work." _

The two people startled out of their skin, falling to see the tall slim man in the doorway. The figure stepped forward, head held high, "Sherlock Holmes, and you must be-" He held out his hand to the shaken male in front of him, "Robert Priestly, the boss of the woman in that terrible state on the floor, and several other women by the sound of it."

The balding man ignored the palm held out to him.

The blonde woman, still crouched by the bloody mess lowered her head a little; she looked relieved.

The man's gaze hardened, and he stood tall- However he only just reached Sherlock's shoulders; he tilted his head up, "Coppers have finally caught on about it, 'ave ye? Well let me tell you this-" He moved an imposing finger and poked it in to the consulting detective's ribs, "You have no chance in sorting this. We've already lost, at least if you arrested us we have a better chance of surviving till Christmas."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, and then watched the blonde woman, ignoring the older man's ramblings.

"You can arrest me, you can arrest the girls but we are good people in this dark world-" _–Her eyes are drawn, she's seen the bodies numerous times- "_We have only been protecting each other. Your government can frown, and judge-" _Fists clenched, brow furrowed; dislikes the man with her, _"-But that won't stop this killer, this madman. You take us off the streets you leave every other struggling soul sat like sitting ducks-" _Early aging. Teenage mother- Position of sitting- Aborted the baby. _"-Until the 'ighway man struts in with his gun n' shoots them down. One by one-" _Hates the job, had good education. Large bruise on left shoulder, treated unfairly _"-Until there's nothing left. Are you willing to get rid of us? Because I swear to you sir if you have us on the streets it buys you more time before Jack the Ripper finally comes to you, to the 'Upper Class'."

Finally, Sherlock looked at the man again.

"He's not a copper." Spoke the woman, looking up, "He's Sherlock Holmes. _The _Sherlock Holmes."

Sherlock managed a small smile at the woman, before frowning complacently when facing the man, Robert Priestly, again.

_She really didn't like her boss. _

The man frowned, but then smirked eyes widening in a scrutinizing stare, "Sherlock 'olmes? What are you doing here? Where's your band of press?"

"I don't have a 'band of press' Mr Priestly the press have me. It's a completely different relationship."

"What do you want?" Demanded Robert through yellowed teeth and breath, laced with tobacco.

"I want to know about these killings. This is the ninth, yes?"

Robert Priestly withdrew a sharp breath, which nearly caused him to cough. Shakily, but not dropping his guard he regained his composure, eyes burning into the detective but hardly scorching the surface. "Who told you that?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, before asking the question again, more deliberate and slow; enunciating every syllable delicately as if each were a precious rose, "Is this the ninth killing, Mr Priestly?"

The woman nodded grimly- answering Sherlock's question before her boss could. Taken aback, the middle-aged man glowered disapprovingly, "Indeed it is. Who told you that?"

"I'm a friend of Evangeline Watson; I swore secrecy on this and I'm not police, nor will I go to the police. But I'm here to solve it. Give me two minutes looking at this victim, another three to talk to your employee here, and another seven with you."

Robert Priestly thought for a moment, before stating darkly, "I don't know an Evangeline Watson-"

"No, Robert." The woman cut in, "He means _our _Evangeline… John Watson, your partner- He's her father, isn't he? O-Only she mentioned it…"

Sherlock gave a curt nod and Robert blinked, unconvinced. He rubbed his lips, desperate to find a come-back but couldn't, eventually, he sighed. The killings were getting worse, more violent and happening more often. If someone was offering help… He wouldn't refuse it.

"You do this, have them little talks with us. But that's it. Nothing more."

* * *

"It started off as nothing you know… One of our girls got pregnant, I mean, it happens and obviously we can't help it- Kirsty, she wer' called. We booked for 'er to 'ave one of them anonymous appointments at the doctors, where they'd abort the kin-"

"Boring." Muttered Sherlock, phone in hand. He was texting Molly Hooper,

_'Body found. Will bring it in later. confidential. Don't tell anyone._

_Might be a late night._

_SH'_

The blonde woman looked offended so didn't continue, however she changed the subject instead. "Is Evangeline with you?"

The detective was unimpressed as he put his mobile away, "I want to talk to you about the cases, Miss."

"Yes, and you can, after you've earned my trust. Meaning-" She looked triumphant almost "You tell me where my friend is. And my name is-"

"Izzy Smith, I know." Sherlock smirked and the woman shot her head upwards in horror.

"How did you…?"

"_'The only woman I've trusted in two years'_, Those were Evangeline's words when she described you last night."

So Evangeline was with him and John Watson. Okay. Izzy arched an eyebrow, "How did you know I'm her? That I'm Izzy?"

"You know John Watson is Evangeline's father, it's the only reliable assumption. I am correct though-" He paused, "-Of course I am. The look on your face totally gives it away."

The blonde woman, Izzy, looked confused but then sighed, "Look if you're looking for leads I can only give you one. The one who was killed last night. My friend Brandie heard it happen, chased the blighter, whoever had done it straight from the scene all the way to the National Gallery, then she lost him, jus' around the back of the building."

Sherlock stopped entirely for a second, and frowned complacently, "The National Gallery?"

"Yes, why- Does that mean anything? The killer, he could have run far away after she lost him."

Sherlock blinked, "…I don't have the foggiest. But that doesn't mean I won't figure it out within the next few minutes. Bear with me." He reached into his pocket, grabbed a nicotine patched and slapped on his arm. He closed his eyes, and thought; a few moment's went past.

Izzy smirked, "I don't know why you did it, you know-"

"Did what?" Asked the detective, not opening his eyes, showing little expression on his face. This was not a time he liked to be disturbed in. He took the words from the young woman, Izzy, and placed them in a room in his mind palace, on the third floor at the back, next to his room about Tchaikovsky Door old, Victorian, labelled "JtR"; he stored the information with the piles and boxes from what Evangeline had told him the night before.

"You faked your death, Sherlock Holmes. You haven't even told the public how you did it. A man like you in the public eye… -Should never be able to do something like that." For a moment, her top dropped from her back and a fading brown bruise showed on the woman's skin.

Sherlock sighed, another person asking questions about Reichenbach was not something he needed now. He needed to think. Why… Why the national gallery?

At least he knew about Evangeline's bruises now. It was obvious.

* * *

Evangeline smiled, sitting quietly on the steps of the National Gallery facing out across Trafalgar Square, a small ice cream cone in her left hand. She was redressed; in new clothes- It had taken John a good hour to convince her to use the card before Mycroft had the chance to chase Sherlock up about it.

Although she didn't want to, she complied… Only noting that it was to give John a chance, he was trying to be good to her.

_Trying too hard,_ actually.

People bustled across Trafalgar Sqare at all angles, different accents rang clear as a bell in her ears, and she watched the squalor with ease. To her, this was peaceful. The bustle of a city was in her eyes the movement of a great people who would one day be looked at in History books, she enjoyed the thought that despite her upbringing she one day would be part of that History too.

Carrying his own ice cream, and four of Evangeline's bags, John sat down with a small sigh beside her and gazed out too. "You're like Sherlock, you know?"

Evangeline quizzed an eye brow, "I am not. Sherlock is a pig. Last night he was so thoughtful, and this morning- Just-"

"He isn't a morning person." John cut in, before grinning as he retold the story, "You know, a while back, he showed up at Buckingham Palace in nothing but his bed sheets because the Queen herself had asked for his help at an early hour. He wasn't having any of it. He nearly went swanning off about the grounds _naked- _You should have seen his brother's face. Not that I mentioned this in the blog, of course. Actually, none of the case was allowed in the blog. Royal Family confidentiality, you know?"

"…Seriously?"

John chuckled, and nodded, "A grown man can't lie about something like that."

She laughed, and then thought for a moment, "John… When you said I'm like Sherlock, I don't have a clue why."

He smiled a small smile, "I've only ever seen Sherlock looking out at this city looking peaceful. You look the same."

Evangeline dipped her head and turned to John, changing the subject, "Thanks for the ice cream."

John looked confused, "It's fine."

"No, really, it's been ages since I've had it… It's the sort of thing a parent buys to calm an angry child. At least, that's all I relate it too."

Suddenly, it became very awkward, as soon as she realized what she had said- _Diabolically _awkward. Shit.

Evangeline shuffled a little, "John, I-"

"It's fine."

"John…" Here came the 'heart to heart' she was dreading', "I'm not a child, you needn't think of me as one. Honestly, I grew up too early, I'm too mature for my age," She explained, uneasily, "So you needn't think of me as your 'little girl' more a… Distant relative you've just come into contact with. You can go about with your life, the papers call you a bachelor, don't they?"- John rubbed his lips in disgust, she smirked "Well, look- Carry on dating or whatever it is you do. I don't mind."

The army doctor swallowed, "Are you sure you're alright with that?"

"I'd rather have that, John. I was never close with my 'family', I value friendships a lot more than I do the family bonds. I do need you John, I need a dad… But I do not need a family, or anything 'gooey' about this relationship. I'd rather us appreciate each other as adults over a father and daughter. Do you understand?"

After a pause, John nodded, although he didn't entirely get it. He didn't think he would, not yet. He still didn't even understand that the girl in front of him was his daughter. It was all too complicated. "Evangeline," Began John, awkwardly, "How did you and Sherlock meet?"

This stopped her, "John, it's complicated and actually rather embarrassing. I shouldn't."

"Please?"- Her eyes lowered, "Look, I don't want to pry, but with what happened last night…"

"Oh god John, no- It wasn't anything like that. And anything, Sherlock isn't attracted to me, and nor I him. Last night he was just being good to me. He told me he wasn't really used to having women in bed… And that I shouldn't misread him. He only did it because I was upset and he didn't want to make you stressed by you knowing I'd been having problems and that he hadn't helped. He may solve people's biggest problems, but issues like mine… They're all alien to him. I don't even know the man and I knew that straight away."

John Watson found himself silent for a moment, murmuring "Okay" in a quiet voice and then eating the ice cream in silence, Evangeline joined him.

After a while, she tilted her head, "John, last night… Sherlock mentioned that you're having trust problems with him now, because of what happened with Richard Brook-"

_"Moriaty."_ John corrected quickly, a reflex, "Not Richard Brook, Jim Moriaty… And I've always had trust issues with Sherlock. I don't know anyone who doesn't. Well, apart from Mrs Hudson."

"No… I mean, you're still adjusting. To him having come back… It can't have been easy for you. When I read it in the paper, I felt so sorry for you. But the small amounts of money Sherlock were sending me kept on being sent, even though he was 'dead'… So I guess I had an inkling he was alive all that time. It always arrived in the post, regardless of the fact that he was considered dead. It terrified me, but now I realize, he still cared enough about you to make sure I was okay, even if you didn't even know about me at the time, even if he was 'dead'."

The army doctor took a moment to absorb the information. Was this true?

Evangeline was laughing.

"What?" John asked, frowning, "What is it?"

"John, you've got a bit of-" She leant over, reached over and wiped some ice cream from the man's chin, giggling quietly, "You eat like a child."

"I do not!"

* * *

"So we have a deal, do we, Priestly?" Asked Sherlock with dark unfathomable eyes.

The fatter man rolled his shoulders, eyes firm, but giving much more information to Sherlock than he knew; Robert shrugged, "Sure, we 'ave a deal."

"Evangeline doesn't have to come back to work. Are we clear? She stays with John now."

"If you keep your side of the deal, then I'll keep mine."

Sherlock reached in to a pocket on the inside of his coat, and revealed a bag, a heavy bag. He handed it over. Robert opened it hungrily and grinned at the contents. "What's the catch?"

"There is no catch Mr Priestly. I give you this, and you keep Evangeline out of your work." The consulting detective watched the man looking up, eyes of an animal holding a kill.

"Good. Fine. May she be kept out of the devil's clutches, Mr Holmes. Keep her safe."

Sherlock nodded numbly, but stepped closer, remembering the night before.

_- "Are you sure this is alright?" Breathed Evangeline, brushing her hair behind her head with a hand holding a balled tissue._

_Sherlock shrugged lightly, putting his bed sheets back on the bed just in the light of his mobile, trying to ignore his human instincts… The thought that a woman was about to get into his bed. This was for John. It was all for John. That was it. All of it. Completely. _

_"It's fine. I'd rather you be feeling safe then out there, panicking." _

_Evangeline looked genuinely surprised, "You're sure? Truly?"_

_He nodded, not uttering a word, pulling the sheets back and climbing into the bed. Awkwardly, the younger woman studied him a moment, before slipping into the other side. She laid with her back to him, her crying now only whimpers. _

_Quickly, Sherlock typed the final text to John- Telling him everything was alright now- He rolled back over, and his phone caught the light of Evangeline's back. A bruise, a bruise inflicted by the edge of someone's fist was there. A million deductions were made at once, and Sherlock wrapped the girl in his arms, much to her shock. "Don't cry," He hushed, "I don't deal with the wining women, especially this late at night."_

_She laughed a shaky muffled sound as the phone screen flickered off and they were plunged into darkness. _

_Poor, poor Evangeline. As if her life wasn't hard enough already.-_

"Shake my hand, Mr Priestly."

Robert cocked his head, "Why?"

"Do it," Sherlock's eyes told Robert at that moment he had no choice, "It's considered the sanction when people make deals, is it not? To shake hands with your business partner?"

Something was off.

Furrowing his brow, Priestly leaned over, and met Sherlock's hand in a shake, however it lasted. And when Sherlock let go, his eyes were dark. The pale eyes were darker than ever. "Actually,-" Sherlock began, "There is a catch. Don't. You. _Dare._ Beat. Any. Of. Your. Employees. Again."

The hands. The hand matched the bruise that had been on Evangeline's back. The size, the strength from the hit Sherlock could deduce. The speed of the hit. He recognized the bruise on Izzy's shoulder. It was the same. No wonder she hated her boss.

Priestly bared his teeth a little, thrown off, "Excuse me?"

"Do you want me to make myself clear?" Spat Sherlock.

"Please do."

A fist was thrown, a smack was heard, and Priestly fell to his knees. A foot connected with his chest, then his shin. Sherlock crouched and gun was pressed against the man's head. "Do I make myself clear, Mr Priestly? Keep your catch, okay. Because if I found out your broke it-" The gun was pressed hard into the man's temple, Robert cried out, "-I don't think I need to tell you what I'll do."

"F-Fine!"

Sherlock smiled suddenly and stood up calmly, even, as if nothing had ever happened. "Farewell, Mr Priestly. I'll solve the case, don't worry- Now, be a good lad and clean yourself off, you stink of tobacco- It's annoyingly invigorating."

A few minutes later Sherlock had reappeared on a main street in London, away from the alley. He put the gun back into his coat. Where was the nearest tube from here? Oh, right.

It was time to take a small visit to the national gallery. Sherlock had an instinct, this woman, whoever she was, certainly hadn't lost the killer at the National Gallery for no reason. There was an explanation for this, and Sherlock knew he'd find it.

* * *

About an hour later, John and Evangeline still sat on the steps of the gallery, laughing lightly as the conversation had become friendly. John had relaxed, clearly- Evangeline he found he could genuinely get on with, and she him. It had calmed both of them to know that for the first time since yesterday it was no longer hard to think of that they were related. The conversation's sounded as if they had known each other for years.

John's phone buzzed, and his shoulder's dropped, "It's Lestrade again… I'll have to talk to him at some point."

"Lestrade? The copper?"

"Greg Lestrade, yes."

She blinked, "So he knows you and Sherlock pretty well then? I figured he did… He seemed very familiar with you both yesterday."

"He and Sherlock, they're 'friends', it's the rest of the force Sherlock doesn't get on with. Bunch of pricks, the lot of them. I haven't spoken to them since Sherlock died, not even since life has returned to normal. This woman, Sally Donavan, she's called- She started the farce that led to everything that happened, just by doubting Sherlock's amazing mind… At the funeral, she was there, and I could tell, deep down she was pleased. In her head, Sherlock's death meant she had been right, therefore she had won. I lost it; I swear I could have killed her if I hadn't been held back. Shameless to say I haven't seen her once since."

Evangeline sat back, "She sounds horrible."

"I never used to think she was, but… I don't know, after Reichenbach I changed, I noticed everything much more. So I noticed her. I noticed everything she had done… And quite frankly, I couldn't cope with it."

_BANG_

"What the hell?!" Screeched Evangeline, jumping to her feet, John ambling after her.

"What was that?" Shakily gasped John, she and him both grabbed two bags each as people flooded from the gallery, screaming.

John reached for a man holding the arms of two children, "Excuse me, what's going on? What's happened?"

"Mad man with a gun, that's what!" Shouted the man, dragging his children down into the square of Trafalgar.

Some people were running, some were stopping with interest, some had whipped their mobile's out and were taking photos.

_BANG, BANG_

More screams sounded, and people backed more in to the square. John pulled Evangeline down the steps but still stayed near the front of the crowd.

"John what's going-"

"I don't know. Bloody hell, what is-" –His eyes set on Sherlock's as he ran from the gallery, gun in hand, his hair was out-of-place, he looked flustered- "Shit."

_Of course_. Why wasn't John surprised? This was a whole new level to Sherlock's 'stupidity'. Why the hell was he at the gallery? Why the hell was he shooting, in the gallery?

"Sherlock?!"

The consulting detective raced down the steps, down to his flatmate and Evangeline, looked them both over and gasped, "You two. Home. Now."

Then he took off running down the street. The father and daughter exchanged a look, before both taking off after him, away from the tremor and horror in the middle of Trafalgar Square. The police ran outside a moment after. Once again, security was 'just too late'.

Evangeline and John ran shortly behind the detective down the main street, "Evangeline," Sherlock panted, "You're never going to have to go to work again. Your days as a prostitute are over!"

"What?!" She called, bewildered, "Are you mad? What have you done?!"

"Can't it wait?" He shouted over his shoulder, "I've just shot a security guard."

Oh, John thought. Just shot a security guard. _Great._

* * *

**Please leave a review if you will, I'd love to hear your thoughts! And I promise I will get the next chapter up as soon as I can! I'm so anxious to write this, so bear with me! :)**

**Much more drama to come! **

**Lots of love! **

**Emily x**


	3. An Unrequited Romance

**Hello lovelies! Firstly, I'm sorry for how long this update has taken! College coursework is horrendous, and taking in music school, a trip to the Royal Opera House, and recovering from general anaesthetic from an operation. Well, yes, you can get the picture.:')**

**I feel this chapter is a little OOC and suddenly a few plot lines are introduced. Just go with me:-)**

**As a recap, Sherlock after a tip off from a prostitute heard that the killer named 'Jack the Ripper' or 'JtR' was based or related to the National Gallery in some way. After going there, he shot a security guard and he, John, and Evangeline (John's newly found daughter, in case you forgot!) had all fled back to 221B. This chapter carries on exactly where we left off. **

* * *

**_The Kettle's Boiled_  
**

**_Chapter 3- An Unrequited Romance_**

Throwing the door open, Sherlock, Evangeline, and John ran up the stairs noisily; they piled in to 221B, John dropping the bags he was carrying down quick as he could. "You shot a security guard, Sherlock. Jesus. What kind of balls idea was that?!"

The detective rolled his eyes, "The man was annoying me. I was trying to get the list of all the employees at the National Gallery- He refused to give me access."

John gaped, "So you_ shot_ him?!"

"It was just the shoulder, he'll be fine." Sherlock paused, "Evangeline what is it?"

The younger woman had frozen. She blinked, "Did you get the guys name?"

Suddenly, Sherlock grinned and clasped his hands together, steepled under his chin like church spires. "You know someone who works there don't you?"

Evangeline's eyes bore in to Sherlock's heatedly, and slowly they became angry.

"…Don't you?" Repeated the detective, slower- expression like ice.

John looked between the pair with wonder, and then turned his gaze to the window, keeping an eye out for any policemen, which he was pretty certain would be showing up any moment.

"If you shot him," Began Evangeline darkly, "I swear to God I'll-"

"Who is it you know who works there?"

She sighed, not admitting his authority. "This man would never kill anyone, you understand that."

"Evangeline." Instructed Sherlock, "I should have had access to the files, I was using my brother's code's. Somehow it blocked me; this man was going to use physical force to stop me from looking through them although it was in my right. Something about those files he _really _didn't want me to see. Last night the killer escaped to the Gallery. Don't you see?"

"He's not a killer. The man you shot- He isn't a killer, trust me."

"Tell me."

"Sherlock." Bit Evangeline through gritted teeth, "You're barking up the wrong tree. The cat's somewhere else. Another tree, perhaps? Not here."

The detective rolled his eyes, "You're wearing my patience."

"Good."

John looked back over, seeing the challenge being exchanged between the pair. Shockingly, although they both were playing it cool you could see the frustration. Evangeline was making Sherlock frustrated. He realized then his daughter was not to be underestimated.

She was not afraid to challenge Sherlock Holmes.

"Tell me who it is, Miss Watson."

"My name's _'Monaghan'_, Holmes."

Finally a trace of a smirk emerged on the latter's face, "No it isn't. You're the girl version of John-"

"For god's sake!"

"Tell me, Evangeline. _Now."_

The younger woman swallowed, her deep blue-brown eyes fixating on Sherlock in a wary stare. He was meeting her stare directly, and once again she realized he was deducing. She shuffled restlessly, and her shoulder's slumped.

"His name's Vincent Taylor, he's a client, a regular. He actually treated me very fairly…" She looked as confident as she could," I liked him, he was nice."

John smiled at her then, although given the circumstances he couldn't fathom why.

For a moment Sherlock was completely silent, he narrowed his eyes a little and stood back.

_Quick breath, eyes restless, clammy palms, pupils dilated bur not from affection, dry lips indicating thirst, tight joints, happiness, sadness, frustration, too many emotions._

"Are you okay?"

Evangeline blinked. What on earth? John turned around matching her expression of the sudden abrupt change, she shrugged, "Well obviously I'm not okay if you've just shot someone, one of the few people in the past two years who treated me with respect."

"That's not what I meant-"

"Then what do you mean?"

Sherlock paused again, and his expression softened, knowingly he sighed "You should have mentioned it last night."

"Mention what?" She asked heatedly.

"Sherlock…" Drawled John, worried about what his friend would do now.

The consulting detective flicked his eyes over to John for a second. He suddenly stepped over, his body language completely altering. "I'm off out to see Molly, I'm bringing a body in for her. I could be out all night. Probably- No- Almost likely I'll be out all night. Don't worry I'll pop in to see Vincent whilst I'm at Barts; no doubt that's where the bugger'll end up. I need to have a long chat with him."

Evangeline's jaw dropped a little and John walked over to his companion. "Sherlock," Began the army Doctor, "You can't keep me out of the case."

"I'm not," Cut in Sherlock calmly, "I'm keeping Evangeline out of it, for now. Stay with her, make sure she doesn't do anything stupid-"

"Why would I do anything stupid?"

"Evangeline, in my bedroom look at the drawers next to my bed, bottom compartment. You should have told me." He then turned to leave, as the younger woman narrowed her eyes, "I understand, Miss Watson I really do." His voice was practically melodic.

"Wait, Sherlock?" Called John, the former turned with a frustrated sigh, "You're seeing _Molly- _are you sure that's a wise idea? To be alone with-"

"She knows it's professional, John. If anything I'll face my own little dramas alone. You know Molly, she won't mention it unless I bring it up."

Listening to the pair, Evangeline sat down and shifted her bags to one side. She'd met Molly the day before, she'd made the proof that John Watson was her father. Whilst John had spoken to her with kindness, she had picked up that Sherlock was being cold with her and vice versa. The younger woman made her own simple deduction: The pair had some history. It intrigued her.

"Okay, but I swear Sherlock if you act like a dick to her you'll be answering to me."

"It's not my fault what I deduce." Retorted Sherlock slyly.

"Go, Sherlock. We're not talking about this again." John drawled, as if he'd said the same sentence several times already.

The detective, with a light shrug stepped out of the flat. At which point John's phone rang. Mycroft. Looking at his mobile, John visibly tensed. Here it comes, the 'Holmes questioning'. No doubt Mycroft would know about the missing money, what had happened at Trafalgar square and Evangeline already. _Be a man, _John instructed himself, and he answered the phone giving his daughter a limp smirk, "John Watson speaking." He'd suffered through too many of Mycroft's lectures already in his lifetime.

As Mycroft spoke all Evangeline heard was the muffled sounds of a voice echoing throughout the flat, and very- occasionally John forced out a lame reply, eventually he looked bored. Frowning, Evangeline dismissed herself in to Sherlock's bedroom, shutting the door behind her.

_"I understand, Miss Watson I really do."_

What had he meant by that?

God, she'd only been living with the man twenty-four hours and he'd already aggravated beyond compare on several occasions. His intelligence felt too much. She pondered how John hadn't gone mad already. But still, she had no idea what Sherlock had meant. Exasperated, her eyes darted across the room until they settled on Sherlock's bedside table. Somehow she figured Sherlock normally wouldn't let people look there, but he had told her to.

Quickly, she rushed across the room and knelt against the wooden drawers. She looked determined but it faltered. Evangeline hesitated as she bought her hand to the draw he had spoken about, and slowly pulled it open, dreading its contents.

Socks. Evangeline frowned, then laughed. Socks! Of all things! All balled up equally and colour coördinated in lines. Snide man was winding her up, he'd already confused her beyond the point of return and now he had just added insult to injury.

Why had he sent her to look at this if- Oh.

Of course.

Under the pile a little plastic item stuck out, and moving the clothing to one side she realized what it was.

Evangeline was lost for a moment, numb. But then she let out a shaky breath and closed the door softly. The heat of embarrassment quickly filtered through her personal space. She didn't move her eyes from the object, as if it was holy. To be fair, it was anything but holy. _"I understand" _Sherlock had said… He'd _really_ meant it, too. Closing her eyes to clear her head from countless of thoughts, doubts, and questions she tried to deduce why Sherlock had sent her here. Had he known since last night? Or had he just decided to drop the bombshell now? Did this mean he was going to help her recover or was she now joining him on the front line? She didn't know, she really didn't. Would he tell John? She blinked, and felt a lump rise in her throat. Surely not- He couldn't.

After a few minutes Evangeline deemed herself fit enough to leave the room, fighting of the clenching emotion that was gripping her.

John was sat on the settee, still on the phone. He raised his head and gave her a weak smile when she came in. "Oh, no, Sherlock will be fine Mycroft. You know you could just come here? (…) Okay, yeah, yeah, I understand. (…) Mary? Wha- Why've you been- She came to you, ah. (…) Did she mention? No? Okay. Well, (….) Yeah so tell her I need to see her. When?- Erm," John pouted his lips in thought, "Tomorrow. Sherlock shan't drag me out. Okay. Yeah. Pass Violet my good wishes- Alright. Thank you Mycroft. Yeah, okay, bye."

Evangeline was giggling when the phone hung up, John looked exhausted. "That man is a hard piece of work thinks like a sharp knife but talks like an elderly woman, he just doesn't stop."

"Sounds like Sherlock."

John smirked, "Not in the way you'd think. Sherlock's brother is seven years older than him, when they're together they have the temperaments of a middle-aged man and a mardy teenager."

Evangeline smiled and pulled her legs up to her body, "I have so many questions about what Sherlock was talking about then- Just before he left. I can't believe he'd do_ that_ to Vincent…"

She winced as she imagined Sherlock shooting him, it was painful to imagine.

"Let Sherlock solve the case," Explained John, "It'll make sense soon; it always does, in the end. What I'm interested to know is how he claims he has gotten you out of your job-"

Shit. She'd forgotten he'd said that. "Surely he realizes it's not that simple-"

"But he had just gone to see your boss-"

"Robert wouldn't just let me resign. He's not like that." A grim expression formed on her face and very gently her fingers subconsciously traced the bruises the said man had left on her back two days earlier.

John shrugged a little, and stood up heading to the kitchen cluttered with science equipment and flicking the kettle on, "He has a way with people, does Sherlock. Don't doubt what he says until he doubts it himself. It'll do better for you that way."

"Mm." Evangeline murmured, her brow creased slightly, "John?... What's- What's that lady Molly Hooper- What's her story with Sherlock?"

John hesitated. His whole body stilled. She'd obviously hit something.

"I'm good with relationships." Gently she mused, looking at her father earnestly, "I'm guessing there's some really valid tension going on between them."

"It's a _long _story."

"We have a_ long_ time," Retorted Evangeline quickly, "Just sum it up, please. I'm interested."

John frowned complacently as the kettle rang and he bought out two mugs, "Evangeline… It's rather sensitive, for Sherlock. I don't know if I should tell you when you barely know the man, he's softer than he lets off and it did have its effect on him, only I found out recently because it had happened during the time Sherlock had faked his death. Everything still isn't the same, and Molly is a clear example of that." He struggled to find the right words, "They… Broke each other's hearts, and even though now they work together, they still haven't resolved it."

As he poured the boiling water into the mugs, John sighed little and changed the subject, "Mycroft doesn't know about you, you know. It's a Christmas miracle."

The young woman tilted her head a little, "Really?"

"No, there was no mention of you. He only rang to say that he stopped any police showing up here for Sherlock's sake, even though he should technically be being arrested right now. And that Mary was worried about me."

"Wait- Mary? Who's Mary?"

John Watson paused and frowned complacently, "Surely I told you?" He threw the tea bags in to the bin as Evangeline shook her head. "Well, this is rather awkward… Mary- She's my fiancée, well" he stopped and grimaced, "ex-fiancée, we broke up a couple of months ago."

For a moment John's daughter was motionless, quickly she walked over to the fridge and retrieved the milk, "I'm sorry, that can't have been good for you."

"I had a choice, either live a normal life with Mary or sink back in to the madness with Sherlock after he came back. I didn't even make a decision in the end, Mary assumed the latter and Sherlock just carried on as he always does without batting an eye. It was the natural resolution to it all."

Picking up the tea and walking back in to the living room, Evangeline sighed, "John, Sherlock shouldn't control you this way."

"He doesn't," cut in the army-doctor, "I mean, if I had really wanted to I could have changed it. But she'd never met Sherlock, she didn't understand just how much we function together as a pair… I tried to explain it, but how does anyone explain Sherlock to another?"

Numbly, Evangeline sat down and acknowledged some music composed next to her, her brows creased at it, "What about Molly, then?"

John glanced over, and swallowed.

_Molly Hooper was a bag of nerves. 'Pull yourself together', she scolded herself, adjusting her white lab coat on whilst her fingers stumbled over the buttons. She didn't normally fasten it, but it was Sherlock she was seeing and she knew how dreadfully awful it felt when she'd catch his eyes gazing over her flesh. _

John drank his tea quietly, and then cleared his throat, "Molly, a while ago- She helped Sherlock to fake his death. And the pair for protection took off to Venice, one of the Holmes' old holiday retreats from Sherlock's childhood. I thought Molly had left from grief- everyone did- she had always had feelings for Sherlock. Always."

_She strode in to the morgue, confident as she could and set her eyes on Sherlock professionally displaying body parts out on a table without tampering the evidence at all. Molly's eyes were sullen, sad, and when Sherlock looked up- just for the fraction of a second- with all the light of a case in his eyes, Molly knew he had moved on. _

"Things happened in Venice, and after a month, sparing the details all I know is that Sherlock told Molly that he loved her. If that was romantically, or something else entirely I'm not sure."

Evangeline gasped inwardly, "Go on."

_For the next two hours, Molly simply watched Sherlock work and she did as he said. He never once made eye contact with her, he only murmured incoherent musings to himself unless he was speaking directly to Molly, which he had only done twice during all that time. _

_It was awkward, dreadfully awkward. _

_Molly was determined and her brown eyes narrowed as her small lips tightened a little; for the first time she wanted to see the sadness in Sherlock's expression, of which she had always noticed before. But something was different this time. The body he was examining and taking pieces from, it was only once he had a flash 'eureka' moment… And the words he had said, test tube in hand were "Evangeline Watson."_

_The girl from yesterday? Her mind drew a fast conclusion. Her eyes fixated on the slab and she recoiled dramatically "This… This woman is the one from yesterday? John's daughter?" She indicated the bits-of-woman on the slab._

_"Don't be stupid, Molly."_

John continued, "After Sherlock had done this, things got interesting with them, because Sherlock continued to keep his distance, for weeks. And yet Sherlock referred to Molly as his partner, she had no idea what was happening. But this is what she had wanted, in a way, to finally be in a position of intimacy with the great Sherlock Holmes, so she decided to try her luck, one night she took the courage and decided that if they really were a couple then he wouldn't shun away any… 'Advances' she made towards him.

_Stupid. Molly held a breath, biting back her anger, she wanted to cry. Once again 'she' was the stupid one. She was painfully embarrassed by what had happened all those months ago. But after she had left her job for months just for him she had hoped he could have shown a bit of respect._

_Sherlock grinned, writing down the results from the test tube quickly and messily. He held up it up the light, "Hello, you," He chastised softly, "How did you get in to this woman's blood, eh?"_

_Talking to the extracted chemicals. And she thought he couldn't have gotten any weirder. _

"One evening, Molly Hooper tried to seduce Sherlock, a concept I didn't think was humanly possible… But he complied, at first- Things got heated and it seemed Sherlock really had loved her."

"And then?"

John exhaled slowly, looking at his daughter with a hint of sadness, "And then he told her that although he loved her he didn't find her attractive at all and there was no way he would ever go through sleeping with her. He claimed physically he wouldn't even be able to 'perform'"

Evangeline's jaw dropped.

_"Sherlock?" Courage. Yes. Good. Molly had finally felt the courage to speak his name, although it was a small weak sound._

_The consultant detective looked up bluntly finally meeting her eyes, "What is it? I'm thinking. You're distracting."_

_Molly looked away nervously and fidgeted, she rubbed her lips together in discontent._

_"Molly if you don't know what to say then don't bother, it makes for too much stupid."_

_A flash of courage. "Sherlock do you hate me? B-Because if you do," Sherlock's expression remained dry, "Then you should go." Molly pointed towards the door, but then withdrew her arm, because it was shaking._

_For a moment, Sherlock's eyes widened. He seemed genuinely shocked. He blinked, and looked down, quickly turning his attention back to the microscope, never even responding to her. Molly felt like screaming, it was hopeless. _

John yawned as he felt the day catching up with him, "Molly was so embarrassed about the incident she caught the first plane she could back to London. They haven't really discussed the incident since. It was, what- nine months ago now?"

"And they still haven't discussed it?"

"No. I've told Sherlock countless of times to bring it up and he refuses. He's too modest to openly confront his problems, that's one of the many problems with him. One of those things that stop him from being, well, human."

Evangeline frowned. Surely the man had the capability of acting like a normal human being?

Later, after take-away, the pair of newly found father and daughter found themselves sat together watching a re-run of Doctor Who on BBC3, or 'Crap Telly' as John called it.

Evangeline had laughed openly, pointing out that no one in the North regularly used the term "Telly". And he laughed at their differences fondly, still grasping on to the fact that she was his daughter. It'd take him a long time to adjust.

Briefly, the pair discussed Evangeline's mother, and she had been surprised when John talked about her in such a sweet nature. She claimed that her mother hadn't expressed such kind behaviour since her early childhood, and John had muttered that he couldn't quite believe that. However, it became clear that Evangeline was awkward about discussing her childhood so they changed it, John knowing he'd have to bring it up another time.

Evangeline began to ask him about Mary. And John began to wonder, after all the secrets and deception, how he was going to explain to the woman he loved, the woman he wanted back, that he had an estranged daughter from twenty years ago now living with them in 221B Baker Street.

How would she ever understand that?

* * *

It was just before three in the morning when Sherlock finished working. He had new ideas, new theories, and new ammunitions for the truth to set to light from. He accompanied Molly from St Barts, and her eyes were worn with exhaustion. She was upset with him, stressed with the very ideal of him being around and worrying that the longer she stayed with him the more it was going to hurt her to leave. They walked around to the front of the hospital, away from the sight of _the fall, _and in to the cold night. Molly gripped at her bag tightly, and she made no attempt to make contact with Sherlock.

"Thank you, Molly."

It sounded as if it had been difficult to say, as if every inch of him hadn't wanted to but the modest British stereotype within him had forced him to comply. If it had been a few years ago, Molly would have smiled and her stomach would have twisted, she would've become flustered within a moment. Not now. She held herself tight, murmuring, "You're welcome."

What exactly was he thanking her for?

Cars roared past them on the main road, and Molly decided to divert her attention to them so she didn't have to face Sherlock.

All the unanswered questions she had ever had about him lingered in the air.

Slowly, the consulting detective watched the woman with a delicate eye. He knew she was worrying, he knew she was putting off everything that had happened. As much as he wanted to confront it, it was an awkward topic for him too, and he hesitated.

But oh, the unresolved matters tortured the very wind blowing through the city.

Sherlock swallowed, barely looking over, "Molly… It wasn't your fault; you shouldn't have been so embarrassed."

A mine was dropped. There, he was doing it, he was confronting the problem, finally.

She flinched, and pushed her lips together as emotions like a bomb suddenly became all too powerful.

"Honest, Molly. You aren't the first person to misinterpret what I meant by love, and I highly doubt you'll be the last. I… I don't like it to cause you such strife."

She fiddled with the hem of her coat, wincing at the soft-baritone voice closing in around her.

The great Sherlock Holmes went quiet for a moment, and he considered explaining to her more why he could have never responded to her actions. He decided against it. That part of his heart he felt he could never confess, it'd break her. And he couldn't do that.

"Sherlock did you ever love me?" She whispered, eyes pooling at her feet. "Was it an experiment?"

Sherlock winced at that.

Cars sped past them on the road, taxis came and went, but neither called out to them.

"Yes, I never lied to you. Why would I- When you helped me fake my death, saving everyone I held dear?" His voice was deftly quiet now.

Molly grimaced a little, and didn't dare move, "But then," Her voice cracked, "But then why didn't you-" A tear escaped her eyes. Sherlock watched it run crystalline down her cheek and let out a shaky breath.

"…Molly, please"

"What about now? In this moment, where do you stand with me now?"

"You're my friend Molly, that's what we are, friends. What happened- No, what nearly happened… It was a mistake. I should have never let sentiment get in my way. But… I know now, that I am capable of love, and you taught me that."

_Friends. _

Molly raised her trembling hand, and wiped the moisture from her cheek. "I… I should go."

"Let me take you home." Offered Sherlock gently, opening a palm out to her. She hesitated. He wasn't normally this considerate. "Please, Molly."

She sighed, he was taking pity on her. Pity and nothing more.

"Tell me why you couldn't…" Dammit, she had trailed off; she couldn't talk about the subject of what had happened in a literal sense; the cold bit at her face, "I mean… If, if you were asexual, or… _incapable_, I'd understand. _Even_ if was because of John, I'd understand." Her voice shook again, "But you never gave me a reason. All those times you criticised the way I looked, my lips," She grimaced and brushed his hand away, "My breasts-"

"Appearances have never affected me, Molly. And you should have never taken those things to heart-"

"Sherlock please." She turned to him, eyes glistening with fresh tears, "Just get it over with, and tell me."

Sherlock looked weak, "I don't want to hurt-"

"Tell me" She pleaded desperately.

Stumped, the great Sherlock Holmes realized he had been put in a corner of which he couldn't deduce his way out of. His eyes tore in to Molly's, wide, and for once openly sad. "At first, I'd never have shunned you away. Whenever I said those things, I was never insulting you with them, I was acknowledging them. I don't like to lie... But you're not ugly, you hold many features a person could notice to be attractive" Tears began to fall silently down Molly's face, Sherlock remained composed, "After I told you that I loved you, I hoped we could have begun something _normal. _But then you became more open with me…" He swallowed, his mind was screaming at him not to tell her, "You told me about Jim."

She stopped and her mouth slightly parted.

"…Moriarty destroyed me. I could handle the fact that you had dated, you hadn't known who he was, and neither had I. But knowing that you had slept with him-" He closed his eyes, "I know it shouldn't have, but in that second any notion of love and physical affection I had for you went out of the window. Considering my feelings, I should have been able to look over it but I couldn't. The thought of me going somewhere where he experienced just to cause me strife makes me sick. It wasn't your fault, Molly. And I'm sorry."

Shaking, her head lowered again. Sherlock saw the small droplets from her eyes explode on her shoes. Gently, he reached out to rest a hand on her shoulder. She recoiled. "I should go, S-Sherlock."

"Molly let me take you home, it's so late-" He reached out again.

"No," She cried softly, moving his arm away, "No." Molly shuffled a little, regretting her small outburst- which Sherlock hadn't even seen as an outburst- and she wiped away her tears again with her trembling fingers, "G-good night."

She took of walking down the street as quick as she could.

Sherlock watched her leave, and nearly went after her. She didn't normally walk home, it would take more than half an hour, and as he heard Big Ben chime three in the morning he realized just how late it was. With a soft breath, he hailed a taxi for himself. The driver frowned at the perfectly sober consulting detective, knowing it was abnormal to see a man without alcohol on his breath past one in the morning. Sherlock paid his fare, and after telling the driver where to go, sat the entire ride in silence.

* * *

Quiet reigned all the way across Baker Street, and if it hadn't been for the small lamp billowing soft rays across the room from the corner, someone would have easily figured it was empty. Looking at the flat from the outside, Sherlock frowned. It would be Evangeline. Silently he prayed her being awake in the middle of the night wouldn't become a regular thing. As odd his own sleeping habits were, he enjoyed the late hours to think in his own solitude. The presence of someone else being equally awake at this time was distracting. Perhaps she just needed to settle.

Sherlock paused before opening the door, setting out a mind-map in his head about what to answer and what to ignore when she- which he knew she would- rack him with questions. Certainly the fact of how she'd got her out of her job was a topic for John to know before she did.

The sound of his key pressing in to the lock of the flat's door echoed across the whole of Baker Street in the stark quiet. London's night life wasn't heard here. It was seemingly peaceful.

Sherlock shut the door behind him, mindful of the sleeping Mrs Hudson and took a short breath. He pushed Molly from his mind. He had to think about the case.

Even with the distraction of Molly, he had made a discovery in the case. And now he had to sit and consider it in his mind palace, forming possible motives, alibies, suspects…

Beginning to pace up the stairs, hesitating as the floorboards creaked, he began to hear sounds that made him stop. Piano music. Singing.

_Apres un Reve in C minor, to be exact._

The music was coming from his and John's flat, and Sherlock opened the door slowly. The music was playing softly, the cd player turned down low. The sight before him shocked him. Sat in the middle of the floor was Evangeline in loose pale grey pyjamas; legs crossed, head rolled slightly back, eyes closed in contentment.

Sherlock had deduced within a moment of meeting her she appreciated classical music, but this was odd. It was practically capturing her, hypnotizing her. She was at one with the soft vibrato and lucid range of the woman singing. She hadn't acknowledged him at all, he figured she was so enraptured she had blanked the world out around her. He watched her body react in small motions when changes happened in the music, it was beautiful in the dark.

"You have a good collection, Mr Holmes." Murmured the girl quietly, before opening her eyes and settling them on the confused looking consulting detective. How long had she known he was standing there in the doorway? She smiled "Veronique Gens renditions of Fauré are some of the best, don't you think?" She paused and nodded her head to a pile of CD's she had spread out a few feet away, "Even though, you have a frightful amount of J.S. Bach, and not enough Chopin."

Sherlock took a moment to admire how utterly relaxed she was. "Anger management?"

The young woman gasped, "…How did you…"

"Your body language. You're so relaxed, you're not just listening you're using the music to keep you peaceful. You're so used to classical music because you use it to calm down. Anger management then. Another nightmare, was it?"

Evangeline shuddered, before nodding. The song altered to _Les Berceaux, _and the soprano's voice began to echo through the flat. "I have it on quiet not to wake John." She explained.

"The CD, the Fauré," Started Sherlock, "It's not mine, it's my mothers. I haven't heard it in a long time. I get my musicality from her. …My father had as much musical ability as nails on a blackboard."

A smile traced the younger woman's lips and she patted the space next to her, "Sit with me, Sherlock."

_The case! The goddam case! Get to work!_ Sherlock's head reeled incessantly. He was mortified when he felt his legs moving by themselves, and he complied. The room apart from the one lamp was completely dark. They sat for a few moments in peaceful silence, just listening to the soprano on the CD. "Sherlock, earlier when you asked if I was okay?… Well-"

"You were sweating more than you should have been, your breathing was faster than what was needed for someone with your physicality, and your hands were restless… I know the signs of a drug user trying to get over addiction."

She wrung her hands in her lap.

"That's probably why your sleep has been so bad, too." She didn't reply, he looked over, interested, "When did you stop?"

"A couple of weeks ago."

"Why?"

She frowned, "I don't know… An impulse to improve myself, I suppose."

Something was off with that, but she was telling the truth. Sherlock began to deduce, and found nothing. Surely there had been a reason for her to stop taking drugs so suddenly, surely?

"What about you?" Asked Evangeline, now looking over to him.

Sherlock stopped, "I never said that I..."

"No, but I saw it. On your face."

Sherlock gazed at her in astonishment, before answering her question.

"Once, shortly after I met John and he moved here. And the second time… After the world thought me dead, I was driven down that path again. Once Moriaty's team was vanquished, I took the initiative to make myself stop. There wasn't any point in continuing."

Sherlock normally didn't tell people this, and he was surprised at how open he was being. Perhaps Molly had unhinged him earlier- Yes, that felt about right.

Evangeline sat back and leant on her hands, he watched the way she moved with grace and made no attempt to move with her. He was trying to become the unreadable detective again; she didn't want Evangeline to see through him.

"How was this evening with the pathologist?"

Sherlock sighed, knowing, "John told you the whole story, did he?"

She blinked, "Wha-"

"Don't question how I know things Evangeline unless you want an hour-long explanation. It's easier for yourself. John told you everything. He put up a fuss, you got it out of him anyway."

She frowned at the sharpness in his tone, and her dark eyes gazed over him, "So it didn't go alright then?"

_No. You could say that._

"It's not a simple problem, Evangeline. It can't be resolved overnight." His voice was practically monotone. He didn't like her asking him about it. Was it because he had an emotional attachment to Molly? No, that wasn't it. His emotional attachment was long gone and buried under thick soil.

Evangeline paused and drew a hand to run through her loose brown curls, "Relationships are never great, I don't see the point in them."

"It's a weakness" Mused Sherlock pointedly, and the two exchanged a glance of understanding.

After a moment's silence, _La lune blanche luit dans le bois _began to echo through the flat, and soft sound of a bass began to reverberate across the walls. Evangeline suddenly looked happier, however her smile faltered. "Sherlock," She began, her head eased back as her eyes closed at the music, "What happened with Vincent?"

"He's unconscious. I'm visiting tomorrow, he'll be fine… And you're right, he's not the killer. But he's involved, so I'm not going to let him off."

She rolled her shoulders and creased her eyebrow slightly, Sherlock noticed her unease, "Involved how?"

"I don't know, but I have an idea. Three ideas, actually."

Evangeline opened her deep blue eyes again, and focused on Sherlock who was clearly beginning to think now, his hands steepled under his chin. "Did you find anything from-" She paused, "_The _body?"

She knew the woman who had been killed; she was hiding how badly it was hurting her.

"Yes actually," Sherlock cut in, "There was a substance in her blood, a chemical that heightens a body's resistance. It's rare, but it'd be altered… If used correctly it has the ability to make contraceptives ineffective, in theory."

She blanched a little, "…What?"

"I'm working on it. What I want to know is how it got in the woman's blood. It'll obviously have to be someone working on the inside who supplied it." He pouted in thought, then raised his head to her, noting her abrupt change in body language "Are you worried? About yourself?"

He was considering that she might be pregnant already. She shook her head, "No Sherlock, you needn't worry about me."

"Why?"

"Does it matter?" Her voice was bitter within an instant. And Sherlock pulled back, he tightened his jaw, deducing, and once again found nothing of importance from her. It confused him. He read the basics, but not what he wanted. Was it the addiction in her system?

"I think I'm going to bed now, good night Sherlock." She stood up quickly, walked over to the CD player and turned it off. Sherlock simply watched her, blinking in utter confusion. If she was so obviously upset and angry, why couldn't he deduce the reason? "Are you going to get up or shall I make you?"

Evangeline stood over him, frustration now teeming from her, every single inch of her.

Sherlock got to his feet, mumbled something inaudible, walked in to his room and shut the door.

Evangeline walked over to turn the light off again.

Niftly, Sherlock switched on the light in his bedroom.

With a soft whimper, Evangeline raked a hand through her hair. Cold turkey was making her emotional.

Sherlock pushed his palm through his hair with a drawn sigh. _Today's been far too long, _he mused.

Evangeline walked back over to the settee, and drew up the sheet around her, burying her head in a cushion.

Stripping down to his boxes, Sherlock approached his bed. But stopped. He had an idea. He strode forwards and swung the door open, the light spilled on to the hallway. "Evangeline?" He called in a professional tone.

"Urrmph…." Moaned the woman, brown locks hiding her skin from view.

"Evangeline Watson, look at me."

She turned her head, unimpressed "Let me sleep."

"I have an idea."

"Bigot, first you want me to sleep then you won't let me?!" She opened her eyes.

Sherlock was grinning like a child "Tomorrow night, come on a case with me."

"What?"

"Not a big case, but, come on. I know you want to."

"I want to sleep. Or at least try too. Fauré makes me sleepy."

"Fauré enlightens you so don't play that card. Come on, Evangeline. You used to read John's blog… You know how we work."

"So John's coming then?"

He smirked, "No, and you shan't tell him, either. Take this as a payment."

"A payment?" Baffled, she sat up, "A payment for what?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, and counted on his fingers as he spoke, "For giving you money when you needed it, for letting you stay here, for letting you _sleep _in my bed, for getting you out of your job, for solving your case, for-"

"Okay!" She hissed.

He grinned impatiently.

"Fine. I'll come with you, you arse."

"Good. Sleep well, harlot." He turned on his heel.

"I'm not a-!" The door shut.

Evangeline sat still for a moment before laying down again. "Bastard." She murmured under her breath, but she was smiling.

Sherlock was shaking his head when he was safe in his bedroom again, he didn't notice the fact that he too was smiling.

* * *

**The Next Morning**

"You didn't go after her? Jesus, Sherlock!"

"Molly made it very clear she would rather have gone home alone. I wasn't going to pry."

"It was three in the morning." Flatly replied John, as he sat at the table in a dressing gown, eating an apple, looking unimpressed.

Sherlock looked up from his manuscript, "John. I checked her mobile location. She's at home. She's fine."

"Not just that, Sherlock. You should have explained yourself properly! You probably broke her heart last night, you know that?"

"Love is an effect found on the losing-"

"Yes, Sherlock, the losing side. And she lost, clearly! Couldn't you have been more considerate?"

Pouting like a sullen teenager, Sherlock looked up from the morning newspaper and rolled his eyes, "I _was_ considerate, John. I told her I was sorry."

"I don't think sorry was good enough this time."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, "Shall I bring up a certain argument with certain you and a certain Mary and hear you repeat that sentence?"

John froze. Sherlock finally smirked nonchalantly. "Don't be a hypocrite, John."

The sound of the shower turning on the bathroom distracted them for a quick second. John saw Sherlock listen intently, before meeting his friend's eyes again. "John, I need to tell you something. You'll think it barmy, it is, well, barmy. But you have to know."

The army doctor rested his hands under his chin, "Go on."

"John… I got Evangeline out of work, but I had to give something away to do it. You'll not approve of this, I know you won't. But it worked and now she's here and safe. So please try and see good in what I've done. I did it for you."

"What is it, Sherlock?"

"I bought her."

John's jaw dropped open. He closed his mouth but it fell open several times, as he just tried to process the words that had been said, "Y-you-"

"Bought her, yes."

"How the _hell_-"

"With the last of whatever drugs were in my possession and two hundred thousand pounds."

John was motionless for a second. Before he stood up, and threw his arms open wide, let out a small shout and raced over to his friend. His eyes were wide in horror, "Two hundred- Where did you get that sort of money?"

"And here's me fretting that you'd be more worried about her human rights than exactly how much it came up to."

"Sherlock, how did you get the money?!"

"Keep your voice down." Hissed Sherlock, gritting his teeth, nodding towards the bathroom in which Evangeline was.

The door knocked.

John visibly sagged at the sound. Sherlock let him sit down, "I'll answer it then, shall I?"

"I want answers, Sherlock."

"All in good time."

Sherlock smoothly approached the door, and opening it, he was shoved aside by a flurry of blonde storming in to the flat. "Mary, what a pleasant surprise." He droned sarcastically.

A newspaper was thrown at John, hitting him in the face "What the hell is this?!"

John was surprised Mary was here at all, "Mary-"

"You tell me what's going on, tell me!"

Slowly, John raised the paper and set his eyes upon an article.

_John Watson, bachelor again? _

Underneath was a photo, of a woman wiping ice cream from the man's chin on the steps of the national gallery. There was no mention of the shooting the day before. Mycroft had well and truly managed to keep it out of the press.

The woman on the picture with John was Evangeline.

Shit. They'd got it wrong, so very wrong indeed.

Feeling practically scared, John raised his head to the fiery blonde, her pale green eyes scorching his every feature. "Mary, this is wrong, they've got it-"

"Who is she?"

"Mary!"

"Who is that woman there? Have you moved on? Has all this 'oh-Mary-take-me-back crap all been lies?! Is it bad that I was actually considering it?!"

"Mary, that woman, she's my…"

How the hell was he going to explain this?!

Mary tapped her foot impatiently.

Sherlock watched the scene before him, finding it rather hilarious, until his phone went off. He lifted it up and focused on the screen.

_I need to see you, it's important. Let's have dinner. _

_Irene Adler. _

In that second another message came through.

_Have you heard the story of Godiva, dearest Sherlock? It's a great one …_

_I waited for the train at Coventry;  
I hung with grooms and porters on the bridge,  
To watch the three tall spires; and there I shaped  
The city's ancient legend into this…_

_JtR_

"Sherlock!" The cry distracted the man from his mobile, and when he turned, all three of Lestrade, Anderson, and Donovan bustled in to 221B. John's eyes immediately darkened at the very prospect of Donovan. Sherlock's very soul fell in to trough that even the pigs wouldn't go near with the sight of Anderson.

"What is it, Lestrade? I'm busy."

The shower rang off.

Mary picked up on the sound and John gave her a hopeless glance.

"Sherlock, it's important. There's been a break in, you might want to sit down."

_"Sit down?"_ Bemused, Sherlock chuckled, "Why would I ever have to sit down? I'm a calm man."

John stepped over to his friend, "I'd do as he says, Sherlock."

Lestrade managed a small smile at John, and a curt nod. No mention of the fact that he'd held his daughter under arrest two days ago.

"What's going on, John?" Asked Mary, voice still gritting with anger that she didn't want to express in front of many people being such a personal matter.

"I don't know." Replied John, stomach twisting as he heard the lock being turned on the bathroom door.

Mary was going to have a fit.

Lestrade gave a small nod to Sally, who immediately stepped forward to Sherlock and explaining, "Molly Hooper was kidnapped last night. We have it on CCTV, her flat is a mess, clearly there was violence used. …We've lost track of the vehicle she was forced in to. It left London. Somehow we're guessing that one of your pointless antics is a plausible reason for this. They also left some form of message, someone had scratched_ 'J T R'_ in to the doorway of her flat."

The air was sucked from Sherlock's lungs, and he did need to sit down.

The bathroom door was opened, and steps came from down the landing. The living room was a mass of panic, but all eyes turned when Evangeline came in to view, wearing nothing but a towel, hair sodden with water and smiling lightly.

The tension hit her with such a force she felt her legs wobble. Mary's eyes dropped over the woman's figure before him, and she turned to John, waiting.

"What's going on, Sherlock?"

Someone knew he was trying to stop these murders, and they were _not _happy about it. Sherlock was in a haze, knowing that if he had only followed Molly and walked her home, he could have probably prevented this, twice over.

* * *

**Things just got personal. Dum dum dumm ;-) **

**By the way, this is not a Sherlolly story, as much as I ship the couple... This story is a Sherlock/OC one. No confusion there, guys. It just seemed a good idea to involve it:')**

**If you're interested, check out my tumblr "emilydoreen" Honestly all i so is reblog Sherlock, Doctor Who and other relating fandoms so yeah :)**

**Please review! And thanks for all the support so far!**

**Emily **


	4. It's Just Like Moriarty

**So sorry for the wait lovelies! **

**As a reminder, Evangeline Monaghan (Watson) is John's daughter who has recently arrived at 221B claiming women she works with are being murdered. Sherlock has taken the case, but now the same murderer has kidnapped Molly, who during his time being 'dead' had had a very short-lived relationship with which still affected the both of them and their views towards each other. Also, John spoke about his past relationship with Mary, which had ended after Sherlock's return, however he still wants her back. In the last chapter a Newspaper had been released with photos of John and Evangeline, and Mary made the assumption that they were a couple, not knowing that John had a daughter at all.**

**Chapter 4, It's Just Like Moriarty **

* * *

_Old footsteps trod the upper floors, _  
_Old voices called her from without. - Alfred Lord Tennyson_

Corridors, so many corridors; spinning and turning and changing and rising and falling and standing time still. Molly had searched. Nothing. So many rooms, all locked and barred. Some were empty, some were accompanied with rotting furniture- Or purely just padded space- One was never the same. No lights worked. Nothing. The exit was non-existent.

"No! Help me- Oh…" Her back hit a wall, and she slid down on to her weak bloodied knees. She buried her head in them, shaking, shaking until those tremors made sound.

How long had it been? Hours? Days? Why had no one come for her?

Was this place even real?

She felt her breathing unequal and fast. Pain wrenched through her head, how long had she been awake for? Her mind ran and ran, and she knew who she wanted. Sherlock.

So where was he?

With a groan of trepidation, Molly shook herself to her knees, as if they had no bones in them. For a few seconds she was disoriented, the ground plummeting beneath her feet. Her mouth dropped and she grabbed her forehead. _Focus, Hooper. _

Becoming aware that her head was forming some level of coherent thought and not the obscene slurs it had been for the past while, she tried to walk.

Alone. She was completely alone.

What if Sherlock didn't come? He hated her. He hated her for Moriarty. That was the last thing she could remember- At least something she thought she could remember. She couldn't piece together anything. It was all a puzzle.

_"…Moriarty destroyed me. I could handle the fact that you had dated, you hadn't known who he was, and neither had I. But knowing that you had slept with him-" Sherlock closed his eyes, "I know it shouldn't have, but in that second any notion of love and physical affection I had for you went out of the window. Considering my feelings, I should have been able to look over it but I couldn't. The thought of me going somewhere where he experienced just to cause me strife makes me sick. It wasn't your fault, Molly. And I'm sorry."_

_Shaking, her head lowered again. Sherlock saw the small droplets from her eyes explode on her shoes. Gently, he reached out to rest a hand on her shoulder. She recoiled. "I should go, S-Sherlock."_

_"Molly let me take you home, it's so late-" He reached out again._

Molly stilled. Had Sherlock taken her home?

Had he been there when those people who she couldn't quite recall came to the flat?

Was _he _the reason she was here now?

Bile formed in her throat. Her chest tightened, and she collapsed just as a figure approached at a doorway.

The figure grumbled, picked up the woman and injected something into her shoulder. "Time to take you to your house-mates, I think, Miss Hooper."

* * *

_Lestrade gave a small nod to Sally, who immediately stepped forward to Sherlock and explaining, "Molly Hooper was kidnapped last night. We have it on CCTV, her flat is a mess, clearly there was violence used. …We've lost track of the vehicle she was forced in to. It left London. Somehow we're guessing that one of your pointless antics is a plausible reason for this. They also left some form of message; someone had scratched 'J T R' in to the doorway of her flat." _

_The air was sucked from Sherlock's lungs, and he did need to sit down. _

_ "What's going on, Sherlock?" _

_Someone knew he was trying to stop these murders, and they were not happy about it. Sherlock was in a haze, knowing that if he had only followed Molly and walked her home, he could have probably prevented this, twice over._

A silence prevailed over several uncomfortable seconds, and nearly everyone was looking over at Evangeline; the young woman looked as confused as they did. The only person who wasn't staring at her was the consulting detective, he looked like he'd just been diagnosed with a fatal disorder, repeatedly.

Molly. Molly was missing. The pathologist. His friend. His ever-so-nearly-more-than-a-friend Molly. Molly he had loved- She was missing- And it was all his fault. Sherlock felt more alluded to the world than he ever had been before, and for him personally, that was quite difficult to process.

Evangeline knelt opposite Sherlock's arm-chair and rested a hand on his knee, frowning complacently; She felt his terror over everyone else's present, it practically screamed at her. Sherlock's eyes were wide, his hands steepled under his chin, he felt warm, he felt uncomfortably warm, she watched his chest raise and fall uneasily; he was scared. He didn't react to her gesture. Quietly, hesitantly, she asked again her voice a soft melancholy tone reverberating across the flat "Sherlock, what's happening?"

Another hand resting on her shoulder distracted her and she blinked, turning her head to study John looking at her uneasily. He moved to let her stand and she complied. Nearby, she could feel the incessant glare of the blonde woman- Mary, she assumed- Burning into her back like fire. John looked albeit lost and horrified, his voice was small, "Go and get dressed, I'll explain after."

Pausing, Evangeline nodded at her father, before turning on her heel and quickly retreating into Sherlock's bedroom, shutting the door behind her.

"Sherlock, we need to take you to Molly's flat." Greg's voice piped up, professionally of course, but Sherlock just shook his head in burrowed it into his hands. He'd never seen his friend react like this before.

Sally Donovan took the initiative she always did to make a stand, she didn't acknowledge the man's grief, "Listen, why don't you just tell us what hole you've dug yourself into this time-"

"What time did it happen?" Bit out Sherlock, voice dangerously close to wavering.

Sally pressed her lips together, annoyance clear, but she resumed, "According to our CCTV… 3:37am this morning."

Sherlock stared at her, hard and emotional.

Sally and Anderson shared an awkward look, and John had gripped on to Mary's hands again- John had only met Mary through Molly, they were best friends, and the blonde woman was crying just like Sherlock himself was- Except Sherlock made no audible sound of distress.

Lestrade honestly looked sympathetic, he sat down on the small table covered in files, and explained, "We notified Mycroft of everything just before we came, his men are on this too, tracking where this vehicle went. Our job is to work from here to bring her back."

"I was with her last night," Murmured the consulting detective distractedly, "I was with Molly."

Mary released her grip from John, staring at him with sore eyes, "You weren't there on her shift-"

"No. After her shift I was though, she- She stayed on to help me-"

Lestrade frowned "Help you with what?"

Sherlock paused- He'd promised Robert he wouldn't tell the police anything about the case to keep his workers safe- But this was Molly, surely they had to know? But if the police found out, there was more chance the people who'd kidnapped Molly would hurt her. John was looking at his friend, waiting, because he knew exactly what Sherlock was thinking in that moment.

"…Experiments with different sets of eye colours. That's all."

John looked away, he looked let down: ashamed.

"But," Sherlock continued, "She went home at 3:03am exactly, that was the time she left me."

"They were there when she arrived, four of them. She barely made it through the door."

John winced at Greg's words and Mary buried her head into his chest, sobbing. For that moment John Watson completely forgot it was his ex-fiancée he was holding in his arms, the love felt so complete it didn't even need to be questioned.

Sherlock sat in silence again, expression suddenly becoming unreadable and placid. Sally looked down upon the detective whilst Anderson and Lestrade both sighed in unison. "Sherlock," She began slowly, gentler than usual, "If you were the last person with her, you'll have to complete a statement for us."

"I know how the law works, Donovan." Replied Sherlock quietly, doing nothing as much as batting an eye lid.

Sally hesitated, "Do you have any ideas who may be responsible?"

Sherlock froze, stomach dropping. He didn't. He honestly didn't. Whoever 'JtR' was, was a mystery to him and he was still at the very start of the case. The thought that suddenly this unknown figure was turning his life upside-down without even asking made his whole body shudder.

His phone buzzed.

_Don't ignore me Sherlock, I need to see you and Evangeline too._

_I'll make dinner. _

_The Speciosa Deae Occultum, Victoria Road, London W8_

_I. xx_

Sherlock put his mobile away.

When Sherlock looked up, he tightened his upper lip considerably. "Take me to Molly's flat."

"You haven't answered my question!" Contradicted Sally, arching an eyebrow as Sherlock got to his feet.

"Please." Drawled Sherlock, "Why should I answer anything you ask me?"

"I'm Molly's friend. We all are."

Sherlock stilled at that, before he coughed out a short forced laugh. He was distracting himself. "Molly Hooper hated you. You are the reason that I was accused of kidnapping the children all those months ago, why everyone around me, even myself, questioned my innocence in all my efforts in helping these stupid ignorant people."

She looked hurt, "How do you know what Molly thought about anything? You didn't care. You never cared."

Sherlock practically chocked at the statement, "You know making generalisations in any job, especially that of the police or military is strictly unprofessional; yet you don't even stop yourself with making them about me. I don't lie. Molly told me her feelings about you and Anderson shortly after _she_ helped me fake my death. Shortly after _I_ proclaimed I had_ feelings_ for her that _she had_ too. Don't make assumptions about me. Out of all these people here, including Evangeline who's only been here a couple of days,_ you_ know me the least. And you _certainly_ don't know Molly."

Sally was lapsed into silence, before she stormed from the flat. Anderson stumbling after her. Sherlock briefly looked up at John, expecting the latter to give him the 'Not good' lecture, but he didn't. In fact, John looked purely understanding.

It was Lestrade however who was less pleased. The Inspector stepped closer to the scowling detective and folded his arms, "Since when were you and Molly together?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. He didn't want to talk about it, especially now. He just wanted Molly safe and sound again; their baggage could wait.

"Sherlock?" Enquired Greg with a furrowed brow.

The detective shrugged limply, "I- We're not, never were and never will be."

"But there was something?"

"Is it honestly worth discussing?"

Greg threw his arms open in stress, "Yes Sherlock, she's missing- For God's sake!"

There was a pause after that. Sherlock froze for a complete moment. His pale eyes became darker and sharper.

After a moment came a harsh, blunt, and clipped reply dented with anger, "Whatever happened between Molly and I. Is. Over. It does not pose any suggestion to what is happening to her now and it. Is. Not. Relevant. Now take me to her flat or leave. I cannot deal with your propaganda, every moment you spend prying is another moment she could be getting hurt and I swear," John swore for a moment he could see the detective's hair bristling, "If I find out that she has been hurt, then I shall hold you personally responsible... Would you really like to risk that?"

It was now Greg's turn to look stung. He stepped backwards in shock. He could see the pain in Sherlock's face, the stress and the worry. The shock was making the Great Sherlock Holmes reckless, and considering what he acted like normally one would wonder how far he would go now. There were no boundaries.

His reply was small, "We shall find her, Sherlock."

Sherlock's eyes didn't move nor did they lose their ferocity.

DI Lestrade swallowed apprehensively, "I'll take you to her flat."

He left.

Sherlock watched him go and took a shaky breath, feeling the anger dissipate from his body leaving only an anchor of regret falling deep within his stomach. He reached for his belstaff, scarf, and picked up a nicotine patch carelessly shoving it into his pocket, knowing that probably he'd ditch it for cigarettes later.

John walked over, worried and moved in front of his friend to catch his attention. Mary slumped on the settee with a moan, running a hand through her hair.

"John why are you standing so close? Let me go."

"Please don't do anything stupid."

"Why would I-"

"Because you care about Molly and I know you're panicking." Stated John brutally. "Please, just think about what you do before doing it. Yes Sherlock you can solve just about anything, just-" He paused and his tone became softer, "Don't do anything to rash without considering it's implications first. No one around you is to blame, we're here to help."

Sherlock had a retort ready on the tip of his tongue, a clipped snide comment that'd put John back in his place.

His memory of how broken Molly had been the night before stopped him.

"...I know... Thank you, John."

John gaped at Sherlock as the latter quickly moved around his friend and putting on his façade of being okay-and-in-control too quickly to be noticed, "Send Evangeline down will you? She can travel with me."

"Wait, why am I not travelling with you?"

"Not enough space in the vehicle. Get a taxi."

John let out a groan of frustration, "What's the real reason?"

At that moment Evangeline left Sherlock's bedroom newly dressed with her brown hair tied up because it was still wet. She caught the two men in the heated stance and gave them a defeated smile, she had no idea what was going on yet.

She ignored Mary's gaze in her back.

"The real reason," Explained Sherlock with a pout, "Is that you need to talk to Mary, and I'm not getting involved with that and neither should Evangeline. This has to come from you."

Mary looked up as John paled.

"Okay."

The detective shrugged and turned around, "Come along, Evangeline."

"Where are we going?" She asked lightly, "Why were all of those people in the flat?"

John and Sherlock exchanged a look before Sherlock acknowledged Evangeline follow after him; as they left they heard Sherlock begin the weary task of telling her that the person/people who had murdered many of the people she worked with- many her friends- were now targeting Molly Hooper, and he had no idea why. John's heart sank, Evangeline wasn't going to take this well.

A long silence followed, and John didn't turn around. Mary let out a small sob and wiped her eyes, it was one thing taking in that her best friend was missing, it was another reading in the newspaper that John had moved on to 'another woman' so shortly after their break up whilst he'd been begging her to come back, and then she discovering the said woman in John's flat, in a bath robe. She didn't know how she'd kept her sanity for so long.

"Who is she, John?"

John was so contrived with other thoughts he didn't even consider his response nor did he face her, "Evangeline's my daughter."

* * *

"Sherlock, I'm so sorry." Whispered Evangeline scarcely, looking down at her hands nervously.

The car sped down the main streets of London with Sally and Anderson within the car in front, Sherlock and Evangeline at the back behind sound proof dividers, separating them from Lestrade; Sherlock was explaining to Evangeline the unruly fate of which had just befallen Molly Hooper- The rest of London carried on, oblivious to their affairs.

"I should have never come here," Omitted the young woman, "I'm here two days and I've already caused-"

"No. Evangeline it's not you. It's me."

She blinked at him, "But I-"

"The day you arrived I received a message from this 'JtR', and I've received riddles since. They don't want me to investigate your case, so they've taken Molly as a plea to stop me," He rested a fist under his chin and let out a small breath, "It's not your fault."

"Yes, it is." She despaired weakly.

"If you hadn't come to me those women would have still been killed helplessly." He turned to her, "I shall solve this, I shall bring Molly back and I shall stop your friend's from being slaughtered. Don't doubt me."

Evangeline bit her lip and ran her hands through her hair which she'd just let down. Slowly, she gave him an unconvincing nod. They dissolved into silence for a few moments.

"If you need to talk to anyone, about Molly, then I-"

"Why would I talk to you I barely know you?"

Evangeline recoiled a little and turned to stare out of the window. "I'm not normal person Sherlock, and neither are you. I don't hold any prejudices to your character. It's easier to talk to me if you don't know me to well. I can't judge you."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "You've judged that I'm emotionally unstable. That's why you're offering me this 'support'. Don't you think that's judgement enough?"

"...I'm emotionally unstable, too." She reasoned quietly.

The detective froze at that. Of course he knew that she was unstable, he just hadn't considered it that way.

Evangeline sighed "I know someone who was raised in a neglected environment and emotionally abused when I see it, Sherlock."

Sherlock startled, "How the-"

She smiled weakly and still didn't turn back around.

"But that, that's my childhood. That-" The detective's jaw had slacked open. Dammit- She had actually rendered the Great Sherlock Holmes _speechless! _"Evangeline, even John doesn't know- How did you work that out?"

"I know the signs, people go certain ways when they've been neglected from a young age. I'm a prostitute, I've seen every which way a child responds to abuse once grown up, believe me." She replied simply, before turning around and facing him.

Evangeline continued, "I already had the theory, and then when John told me about you and Molly that sealed it. It's obvious. I don't know what sort of world you grew up in, I'm guessing because of how materialistic you are that it was nothing like mine, but the signs are always there. They always are and they are always exactly the same, you shouldn't be afraid of them... But you shouldn't let them control you."

Sherlock's eyes were wide, his mouth slightly parted and his whole body was rigid. He stared at her with malice and horror in his face. The younger woman sighed a little as her own wide eyes bore into him, Sherlock seemed totally lost and moved her a little.

"Your intelligence was a defence, wasn't it? This lack of sentiment you're so embellished in, it's all a defence."

Reaching out hesitantly, she moved to rest a hand on his shoulder. "Sherlock-"

"No." Sherlock responded, suddenly moving her arm away. "Don't show me any form of affection. It doesn't work. I don't need your sympathy."

"Just, if you ever need to talk Sherlock. Take me as someone who will understand, probably more so than most of the other people around you. Not because I know you better but because I _understand."_

Tightening his upper lip, Sherlock turned to face forward and didn't reply, hands steepled under his chin he entered his mind palace and building a room for Evangeline Watson; she certainly was going to need a large one.

The divider was lowered as Lestrade leaned over, "Just warning the both of you. There's press outside Molly's flat."

Evangeline swallowed, and Sherlock didn't respond at all.

"Don't communicate with them at all unless I tell you to. I'll make the statements."

* * *

The room was deftly quiet as the CCTV footage was played back from the flat's main stairwell. First Molly assented, beige satchel over her shoulder and out of vision as she proceeded the landing- The stationary lights flickered on the stairwell and no one arrived- The seconds past, the moments carried on- Suddenly four figures dressed in black balaclavas appeared, dragging Molly downwards. _How had they got in the flat?_ She couldn't stand; her leg was bleeding through her trousers. They could see the anguish on her face on the screen and winced at it. Molly Hooper put up a fair fight, but when a gun was pressed against her head she went limp and they took her from the building. One figure stayed behind, and looked up at the said CCTV camera. Black contact lenses. Pure black contact lenses... How could they work out this person from their eyes when they'd purposefully hidden the irises in the simplest way possible. The person stared for a long moment, and then left.

Further footage showed Molly being manhandled to a large Jeep and being shoved in the boot, the door slamming before she could escape and the captors quickly getting in the vehicle themselves and driving away, leaving the street in an eerie perfect stillness.

"Two men with size eleven feet, another with size nine, and a woman with size six." Concluded Sherlock factually, dismissing the aching in his eyes and the clenching anger swamping his heart. "They got in through the window, I presume."

Lestrade nodded, "Her bedroom window is smashed open, yes."

"Anything stolen?"

"No, not that we know of."

"The one who came back has had training in defence, possibly the Mafia more likely the military or police."

The inspector guffawed at that, "The police. Why would they?"

"I think a great many people on this board would have reasons to hurt me," He turned with a sly grin, "Isn't that right Anderson?"

Anderson rolled his eyes slipping into his coveralls. _Size twelve feet, wrong. _

"Please, Sherlock." Scolded Lestrade tiredly. _Size ten, wrong._ "I'm going to excavate the scene. Come up when your ready." He left, accompanied by Anderson.

Sherlock pouted lightly and gestured over to Evangeline who'd been stood in the doorway the whole time. She stepped over nervously, looking rather ill. "Do you recognize any of the figures?"

She blinked at him, "All their features are covered-"

"You don't need features, look at their bone structure, the way they stand they way they move, their pace and gait." He still saw her confusion, "Go on, look properly, think about it."

The footage was played back to them.

"Sherlock I don't think that I-"

"The business of life is the acquisition of memories!" Exclaimed Sherlock, "Open your mind, remember."

She tried once more, before her shoulders slumped.

"I... Erm, no. I don't think so."

"Are you sure?"

She creased her brow, trying her best, she racked her head with the people she knew. "I'm sure."

"Dammit," Sherlock cursed under his breath, "Okay Evangeline, don't worry."

She winced lightly and didn't look over. "Do you think these are the people who've been killing the others? We figured it was just one person. This _Jack The Ripper._"

"The tallest male, it's him. The second male has supplied the drugs to lower the ability of the contraceptives and the woman has assisted them."

Evangeline's jaw dropped, "How did-"

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and she decided it was probably best not to finish her question.

* * *

"Don't tamper with the evidence, Sherlock!"

_"Please. _There is a large difference between tampering with evidence that is relevant and that which is," He admired the frightfully pink jumper in his hand with distaste, "Completely irrelevant." He tossed the garment to Molly's bed, and suddenly laid stomach down on the carpet.

He smelled the floor once, twice, and then pouted whilst leaning on his elbows, "There's barely any excess residue from outside on the carpet. Why?"

"Because they're clever, Freak." Sally commented, "It's a wonder you didn't notice it on the CCTV."

"Notice what?" Sherlock glowered, tossing away a loose sock of Molly's to the side; Miss Hooper was certainly messier then he would have first thought.

"The shoe covers. These people couldn't bring in any dirt from the outside because they covered their shoes before they came in." She presented him with a non-slip shoe cover encased in a plastic bag. "They put on these when they broke in. They must've known about the children you 'found' simply from a footprint."

Sherlock frowned at the bag in front of him. _New, recently produced. Manufactured in Suffolk. Not bought in Suffolk, bought online and only newly arrived. Chances of Molly being in Suffolk omitted._

"They know my methods then." Concluded Sherlock with interest, sitting up.

"Clearly." Commented Lestrade, "Everything that normally you can catch out they're worked desperately hard to hide." He looked within Molly's jewellery box noticing all of it was freshly clean and not very used, "They have obviously read about your cases, be that from John's blog, or elsewhere."

The consulting detective swallowed regretfully and pressed his palms against his cheeks. "This wouldn't be the work of some fan of John's blog, these people will have to know me upfront; The detail is obsolete."

Suddenly John entered the room, dressed in coveralls and followed by Mary, their hands were locked together. "Sorry it took so long to get here," John explained, "We had a lot to discuss."

The couple exchanged a look and Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Sherlock!" Cried Evangeline suddenly, making everyone jump.

The woman emerged from Molly's kitchen, book in hands. She bustled over to the detective and knelt in front of him, to which many of the forensics around glowered at. She past over the item hastily, confusion in her expression, "Here."

"What is it- Oh."

_'The Works of Alfred Lord Tennyson'._

"It's bookmarked to Mariana, Godiva, The Lady of Shalott..." Evangeline trailed off.

"What is that?" Enquired John, bending down behind the detective.

"Why have you given this to me?" Asked Sherlock.

"Turn it over."

Sherlock did as instructed, and then he stopped. He felt as if his heart had just frozen, suddenly he let out a breath he hadn't noticed he'd held and his whole body slumped. Anderson stood up again, murmuring "Shit" under his breath whilst beckoning Lestrade and Donovan over.

Evangeline's dark eyes were focused on the detective worriedly. They sought into him trying to deduce his thoughts, and only came back with empathy. His thoughts were running at a million hours per hour, his ideologies and deductions screaming at him madly, dramatically, begging for release.

Sherlock swallowed. He didn't know why the horrors fell upon him so quickly or why they stifled him so much, but nevertheless they were taking the gratification out of his life with a force harder than he could ever fight against. His chest tightened, and suddenly he realized all this was just a game. A game of poetry in it's most vile form.

_Mariana is a situation  
Godiva is an action  
Shalott is a consequence.  
Our dearest Molly is all three  
__Let's see you solve these puzzles,  
__We like to watch you dance._

This was Moriarty. All this was like Moriarty. Twisted and shown in a new way, yes, but still him.

Dropping the book from his hands, The Great Sherlock Holmes stumbled to his feet. Something had unhinged inside him, he looked practically primal; he focused his attention on Evangeline, noting her clear concern over him. It was time to visit Irene Adler. "Evangeline, I think it's time we paid a visit to a dear friend of ours, don't you?"

Just as she opened her mouth to protest the detective turned to Anderson, who'd picked up the book.

"Don't tamper with the evidence, Anderson!" Sherlock mimicked as Sally narrowed her eyes at his mocking tone.

"I'm a forensic-"

"Hardly." Groaned Sherlock.

Anderson pouted, turning to Lestrade, "We'll need a graphologist to look at this."

"Aren't you familiar with the study of graphology, Anderson?"

The forensic glared bitterly in response.

Sherlock shrugged, explaining to a majority of the people in the room who clearly wouldn't know the information "The psychological analysis of handwriting. The upwards strokes on the S, the G, the M indicate a genius level of intellect. The flourishes on the lower zone denote a highly creative yet meticulous nature. But if one observes the overall slant and pressure of the handwriting there is a suggestion of acute narcissism, a complete lack of empathy, and pronounced inclination toward..."

Lestrade's head shot upwards, "Sherlock-"

"...moral insanity." Concluded the consulting detective, before walking over to the Inspector, murmuring, "This is a game I'm not willing to play, Lestrade. Moriarty killed me once, and I shall not let his ghosts do the same to Molly. Whoever's doing this has lost their mind."

"The poems, what are they? Do you know them?" Mary asked, turning the detective around, her green eyes bore into his with worry.

Sherlock nodded simply, "Mariana tells of a woman who waits for a man to come but he doesn't, Godiva is the story of a Lady who defy's her morals to save others, Shalott is based upon a woman who when trying to escape her tower to pursue a lover... Dies, in the process."

Lestrade pressed a hand to his forehead, "Bloody hell."

Sherlock took the book from Anderson unwillingly, and sat on a plush chair of Molly's. He remembered the poems from his younger years when he'd been made to sit through hours of Literature he had no interest in. He wasn't a fan of myths, fairy tales and fantasies, but now he was very glad he knew them.

Everything he had worked for felt worthless in this moment. This was a game he couldn't play, a game he couldn't win. He hadn't felt frightened with such ferocity since he had been a young boy, a time he had such little self-control he believed emotions had been useful, he couldn't believe had stooped this low. The fact that someone was capable of such damage to Molly meant that someone somewhere was laughing at his pain.

Lost in thought, he recited the reprise within Mariana, quietly and slowly; no longer did it carry the regular characteristic rhythm of his baritone or the clarity of his genius. It sounded like a small child being made to apologize to it's parents. Lost, regretful, and oh-so scared.

_"She only said, 'My life is dreary,  
__He cometh not,' she said;  
__She said, 'I am aweary, aweary,  
__I would that I were dead."_

John shook his head and turned away, lowering his head closer to Mary's.

Evangeline looked close to breaking, she stared at the consulting detective with a careful eye and wanted to go and comfort him.

Anderson and Sally shared another long look, one of sadness.

"What does it mean, Sherlock?" Enquired John quietly, voice cracking at the last syllable.

Sherlock didn't move, the answer was obvious to him. "John- They, they're going- They believe that if I don't go to her, then she'll go mad... And wish death upon herself. If I can't find her they threaten her sanity." His upper lip tightened and he lowered the book to his lap, grasping his chin, "Molly's own mind depends on me finding her. And we have nothing," John stared in horror as Sherlock's expression broke, "Nothing at all. I've never seen a crime covered up like this. They know how I work, they know how I think... It seems my deductions aren't good enough now."

He had tried so hard to keep his emotions at bay. _Don't let them see it, it's a weakness! _With a shaky gasp he raised a trembling arm to his cheek, recoiling as he traced moisture from there. Was he crying?

How long had he been crying?

"Oh Sherlock," A small voice rang, and he didn't even fully recognize the woman pulling herself into his arms... Evangeline. "It'll be okay, we'll get her back." He felt her own tears wetting his shirt and he frowned at it, she didn't even know Molly, or himself, so why was she so affected?

Sherlock was horrified at her gesture. Evangeline was reckless and he knew that she'd put herself on the line for other's without a second thought. She cared greatly for other people, it didn't even need questioning. The whole ideal of that was alien to him.

The ideal of a women hugging him at all was alien. He didn't push her away, nor did he stop his own release of emotions. At that moment when he was so lost, so afraid and confounded he felt their no alternative. He held Evangeline in his arms, and didn't want to let go.

John swallowed nervously. He knew this was all wrong. Sherlock wasn't shunning Evangeline, in a case he wouldn't normally even acknowledge John's existence never mind except support from him. He watched them in awe, and he knew what he saw.

Understanding.

Evangeline understood Sherlock's weakness in a way that none of the others did. Sherlock had never looked so broken before, he had never admitted that his own mind may have not been good enough on a case. He'd never doubted himself like this, and Evangeline understood why.

John Watson watched his daughter and consulting detective, and knew that this subconscious understanding had never been higher. In that moment, despite all the goings on, John admitted to himself that he was glad that Sherlock had found someone worthy of confiding in, a person that probably she had searched for too for a very long time.

Mary inched her head slightly underneath John's chest and John turned his thoughts to her. She smiled sadly at him, and moved a little so they were close, foreheads grazing. "I still love you, John." Mary whispered, closing her eyes as if in apology.

John simply watched her, relief flooding him before pressing his lips to hers softly, knowing his reprimand of feelings wasn't in words; Mary knew that John Watson's heart was with her, and always would be.

* * *

Molly Hooper coughed and spluttered, rasping as a compound violently clogged her chest. Consciousness came back too quickly and she couldn't think; she shook with full body tremors she couldn't account for. When she opened her eyes they were blurry, she panicked. Squirming her hands slapped against her ears. Oxygen! _Oh God, I can't breathe! Sherlock... Where's Sherlock?! _

Forcefully she was dragged to her feet. The hands dug in to her sides. _Why the hell can't I see?! _Tears began to burn through her eyes and scorch her skin, her soul plummeted to a place it had never been before.

A lump raised in her throat. _Oh God, no! _She hadn't even any time to register anything before the realized she was vomiting, some other hands still wrapped harshly against her waist. Once her stomach was thoroughly empty, Molly groaned in pain and slumped to her knees, vision spinning, arms and legs trembling.

Vision!

Molly forcefully opened her eyes and made them focus, even though it hurt. She was a crumpled figure shaking next to a rather offensive looking black bucket. Clearly the object she had been carried too. Feeling a dry heave gripping her stomach, she turned and focused on the feet in front of her.

Black shoes, reasonably large... Polished.

Her stomach dropped. No... This was a nightmare, this couldn't be real. No no no-

"Jim?" The name escaped her before her brain could stop her; It was running at a million miles an hour, all thoughts incoherent and jumbled.

A laugh sounded, loud and broad- She physically winced at the sound.

"Moriarty? He's dead, Miss Hooper."

Her head shot up. That voice. She knew that voice- No.

The figure standing above her looked emotionless. Empty. No life was in its eyes: It was mad.

Suddenly reality hit her, the scale of the situation honed in quicker than a landmine. She had been taken with purpose, she had been taken to cause pain, and havoc. It was all Sherlock. Deep down she knew now it was him, she was here because of Sherlock. This person had taken her because of Sherlock! There were too many motives to mention!

Her mouth opened and closed several times as she tried to form words but couldn't. Could trying to hurt Sherlock go this far?

"Miss Hooper, I really thought you'd have more to say."

She lowered her gaze to the man's legs, "S-Sherlock trusted you."

"Trusted _me_?_" _He spat out the word as if it was to be met with a chorus of laughter.

"Why am I here?" She hated the question after she had asked it, why couldn't she say anything smart like Sherlock would? Why couldn't she look the man and just deduce everything with a glance like he would? "Why would you-"

"Don't cry Molly, you'll understand soon. If you have questions," The figure smirked, "Then ask them."

He left.

Molly sat motionless for a moment, before agonizingly tuning her head.

Three women were also in the room, deprived, staring at her as if she was some form of animal.

_Sherlock, please. I need you here. Oh, help me._

* * *

**Poor Sherlock, feeling weaker than ever before! Irene Adler is in the next chapter (It's time for dinner, everyone!), also Vincent- Remember him? And do you recall that Sherlock paid a large sum of money to get Evangeline out of work? _Mycroft's _money, to be precise. Much more drama to come! **

**Please review, I'd love your feedback! **

**Emily. :) **


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